Frostbitten
by Raven's Wing
Summary: [Prequel to Blind Spot]Frost brings her unusual connections from all over with her to Brooklyn. Her icy front baffles the key wearing Spot, but she has a key of her own. A key that could open more than she wants, possibly even death. [epilogue]
1. Prologue

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me.

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A/N: Yes it is short, but it is the prologue. I promise the rest of the chapters are much longer.

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Warning: This chapter is PG - 13 for swearing, angst, and suicidal themes.

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Prologue

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They say sometimes they only place you can go is up, well I have news for them, you can always go down further. There is always something out there just waiting to make your life just a little bit worse, to remind you that you are a nothing, that you are unwanted, unloved. There is always that one person out there who lives to make you miserable. Everyone knows who that person is, everyone has one, some have more. We newsies, we have the whole world.

No one cares about us, not even our fellow newsies. Sure, we will fight for each other, but we all like to fight. It is just an excuse to hit someone as hard as we can for as long as we like. We pretend that they are our parents, our friends long gone, who ever we wished that we could hit for every long, pathetic day of our lives. Those someone's are in everyone's lives. The ones that betray us and couldn't give a damn about it. We was beat when we was born.

I've been thinking a lot about it a lot. I've had more time to think lately. The nightmares have been back again, when those happen I lay awake till dawn in my bed, hoping that they won't come back. Sometimes I go for a walk to clear my head, and have a smoke. Lately my dreams have been about being in the refuge.

Sitting in that little cell where the only light was from the hall and the only sound was the rats clawing at the ground. Even those filthy creatures wanted out of that hellhole. I don't blame them. I named them, the rats. Nothing else to do in those cells. After awhile, I would give anything just to hear a human voice. It was like they had completely forgotten that I had existed. They forgot all about me and just left me to decay, slowly waste away in that tiny cell.

Never once did I ask if I was going to live or die, either one would be hell. Not that it would matter if I died, I'm only one person in the world. For all that I matter, I am less than that. The day that I was let out into the sun again was terrible. In the darkness I could ignore the way my body had wasted away, the way my hair was matted and dirty, the open wounds from malnutrition on my arms. Six months I had been in that cage.

I can still feel the stares of the children as their mother shielded away their young eyes. They were right to do it too. No child with their parents should have to see the face of pain with the scabs and scars that covered my face. I knew that I had to have some scars, I had picked off every scab that I had created in my countless hours of solitude.

It's strange what you think of when you lay awake at night. I think about my life before I was a newsie, but what boy doesn't? I think about the times where I could go to bed and not have an empty stomach or worry where my next meal was coming from. I remember the warmth that I haven't felt since then, was that what it was like to be loved? Maybe it was, but I don't know.

You can't love a nothing, and that's what we are, nothings. Not just the newsies, but the factory workers too, the shoe-shiners, the stable-hands, we are all nothings. We were before the strike, and we are now. When you are nothing, you can't change anything.

I guess you can't beat fate, maybe we were all destined to be nothing, but sometimes you can get ahead of it. Maybe you can't even do that, but I think that is what I am doing, isn't it? Beating fate to the punch, taking my life before it can. Is that why I am on this bridge? Or is it because I can't stand it anymore? What is it that I can't stand? I don't even remember anymore, it is all the same shit again and again. Damned if I do, damned if I don't, either way it is hell.

I know what this hell is like, but do I want to know what the other hell is like? All it would take was a little jump and it would all be over. No one would miss me, no one would probably even notice that I was gone for a few days. Am I going to taste that other hell tonight? Taking a long final drag off of my cigarette, I toss it over the side. Downward it spiraled, finally it disappeared into the swirling blackness. Is that what would happen to me?

"Hey Spot!" I hear someone yell and I turn. "Whot ah ya doin' out heah?" It is one of the newsies, maybe he was coming here to do the same thing I was going to do.

"Smokin'," I answer, disappointed and strangely relieved that I didn't have to go through with it. We walk back together, neither one of us talk. Both of us know what the other is thinking, we are thinking about how we were going to jump. Tonight I didn't get to taste the other hell, but there is always tomorrow.


	2. Frostbitten

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Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story.

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A/N: Originally this was just going to be a one-part angst fiction, but I just had an urge to follow up on it. Spot is such a strong character he is so much fun to write about. I can't help it! This story will not be just about Spot, I guess you could call this a background story for things that will happen in my other fictions. Mainly this is the prequel to the fiction "Blind Spot". Name references, situations, and such. Take cares and enjoy!

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG for mild language use and for some violence but not much. If you don't like cussing, don't read this. There isn't much, but it is part of the newsie life, if you can't deal with it, got read something else. Thank you and have a nice day. ^_^

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//_ Her heart is as stone_

Her touch as cold as winter frost

She calls for me to come to her

But only in my dreams…//

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Brooklyn, arguably the toughest part of New York, rivaled only by Queens and Harlem. Manhattan wasn't a competition and Stanton Island wasn't even in the picture. Who went to Stanton anyway? Nobody in his or her right mind bothered to go to that God forsaken place. They isolated themselves a long time ago and Spot didn't care much about them. In fact, Spot didn't care much about anything but himself. 

"Take cahah of yous self cause no one else gives a damn."

That's what he said and he meant it. No one else was going to take care of you in Brooklyn. No one was going to tuck you in at night or make sure you had washed your face and hands before you ate dinner. No goodnight kisses or bedtime stories here, nope, you were on your own. If you didn't fight for the kill you were killed. Spot knew that and respected anyone else who knew it. 

The strike had drawn statewide even nationwide attentions to the newsies. The seemed celebrity status drew orphans and runaways by the dozens to lodging houses filling them to the brim, making selling different all together. They had no skill, no ability to sell, but they tried anyway. Spot could point out each out and be able to tell if they would fail or not and how long it would take them to break. It was a sport in which Spot excelled. 

Lately though, the game brought him no pleasure. Late at night, he found himself sneaking out the front door and going for long walks in the dark. Sometimes he would smoke a cigarette he had managed to bum. Lately, he was going to the bridge a lot. It was always quiet there. The wind would whip though his hair and he would take a long drag off of the white stick. The cherry at the end would grow closer to his lips with every deep inhalation, and then he would throw it over the edge. Slowly it would spiral towards the swirling black below. The nicotine flowing through his veins would make him forget that he was hungry for awhile. Even the most famous and proficient newsie in New York went hungry on a regular basis. 

The hunger in his stomach wasn't the only thing that longed to be filled in Spot's life. Living as a ruthless legend was hard work. Constantly he had to be aware of what was going on around him, who he was talking to, what he was talking about. All of the time he would have to guard his carefully formed image. The pressure was more than any boy should have to shoulder and it was really starting to weigh him down. 

A few months ago he had been in the refuge. The hellhole had left its mark on the still visible scars over his body. The worst had been on his arms, but his neck showed them too, and only a few were one his face too. They weren't too deep, and would heal with time, but the mental scars were the ones that lasted. Only in the past few visits had the suicidal thoughts kicked in full swing. So far, every time he had gotten close to jumping something had happened. Someone coming up to him, loud noises, and even once it was one of the bulls. 

It was going to take a lot more than that to stop him next time and he knew it. Life was losing its luster and its challenge. For Spot, life was a death sentence. Too many things lay on his head. Too many lives bloodied his conscious. His father's life was gone because of him, but he was glad for that. The bastard had beaten Spot to an inch of his life, what else was he supposed to do? Let him father kill him? No, he was lucky that the gun had been within his reach that night in the streets. His father was gone now, so it didn't matter did it? So many things were done and gone but Spot still couldn't shake them from his mind. Friends long gone, people he had hurt, people he had loved, all of them gone. Someday this bridge would take another life, but the only question was when.

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"John, come heah would ya?" Rebecca's voice called through the dreary tenement rooms. "I needs youah help," the distinct New York accent rang out.

"I'se busy now, can't ya do anyt'ing by youah self?" John grumbled, he was particularly grumpy today. 

"I can't figure dis problem, an' yous da one wit' a head foah numbahs," Rebecca complemented sweetly.

"Fine," the teenage boy muttered and began to explain the different concepts on the blackboard she held on the table. 

Little Patrick watched his older brother and sister exchange their affectionate bickering. Frowning, the little boy went over to see if he could help his sister too, but he didn't understand the numbers that were scrawled over dark surface. John was scowling, he did that a lot lately. Every day he had been waking up really early and going to work at a factory. Sister Rebecca had been going too, then she would come home and work at school. Rebecca wanted to be a teacher.

Little Patrick went with his mom to where she worked, but he wasn't allowed inside. Too little, he heard them say, too young to come in here. So he would walk around the streets, wondering why he was too little to go to where his mom worked. During his days on the busy streets he would get bored and soon became fairly good at telling stories, and taking dares. It wasn't until he learned how to pick pockets that he really started to make more money. It never occurred to him that taking something from someone was wrong. 

His daddy worked at the factory where his brother and sister worked, but he worked longer. Every night he would come home very tired and Patrick did his best to make his dad happy. One night he decided to give his dad all of the money he had made from taking it from others. Gathering together the collection of several coins and a few bills, Patrick put it in front of his father as he sat and read the days paper after dinner. 

"Whot is dis?" His father boomed.

"I gots it woykin'," Patrick beamed.

"Doin' whot?" His father frowned, fingering through the money.

"Playin' games wit' some oder boys on da street," he admitted proudly.

When his father didn't press what kind of games he was playing, Patrick didn't tell him. Something made him keep his mouth shut, but soon enough his father would find out. That would be the night all hell broke loose.

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"Button's is gone," A newsboy known as Outsider informed Spot as they relaxed after a long day of selling. It was sometime in January and the weather was freezing. No place on earth had weather like New York. Summer it was like hell's very doors had opened and was blowing its unearthly heat into the city. Winter reduced temperatures low enough that they could compete with the Yukon. Sharp northeast winds blew chilling them to the bones, but they learned to adapt to it.

"Where'd the goil go?" Spot asked, firing up a cigarette. His addiction to nicotine was becoming stronger since his late night walks began.

"Back ta da orphanage," Outsider eyed the fag enviously. "Couldn't take the newsies' life."

"Not many can," Spot answered dismally. "'Ow many weeks did she stay 'round?" He took a lazy drag.

"I'se guessin' 'round foah," Outsider counted the days off on his fingers. 

"Longer dan I guessed," Spot grimaced. "I gave 'er t'ree an' a half," the trademark smirk came across his face. "Who's goin' ta be da next ta go?"

"I'se dunno," Outsider looked around the large open bunkroom. "I'se guessin' on da new boy, da fake crip," Outsider watched his leaders expressions change. 

"Nah, he'll stay longah dan da new fact'ry boy," Spot pointed with his cane. "Risk," he clarified using the boy's nickname. "I gives him six moah days, tops."

"Yous pro'ly right," Outsider nodded. The two boys considered their quite contemplation as they leaned against the wall of the bunkroom. The girl's still shared the same large room, but the lodging house owner had hired a few carpenters that were out of jobs to change an old storage room into a separate bunk space. The owner said something about not wanting pregnant newsgirls. 

It mattered not to Spot, most of the female newsies didn't attract him. Most of the ones here were the orphans and runaways that had been inspired by the strike to try their luck at selling papers. Some of them were factory kids looking to get out of those hot smelly buildings. Spot knew that they were trying to make something of themselves, and all of them were running from something. What Spot didn't know was that someone else was running that night, someone that was going to change the way he looked at things for the rest of his life.

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Feet crunched in the snow that had remained virtually untouched in the many alleys and narrow passageways of Brooklyn. The sound echoed off of the brick sending it in a thousand different directions. The first pair of footsteps was followed by another pair, and yet another as they wove through the nearly deserted streets. The only people out on a night like this were the bums, the drunks, the whores, and the people like this group. The people that had scores to settle, or desires to fill, and the two pursuers desire just happened to be the one they were chasing.

A pair of short legs carried the prey incredibly fast as it tore away from its chasers. Speed fueled fear so strong it could almost taste it like the blood in its mouth. The two chasing had a motivation behind this chase, not only were they attracted to this little runner, the sprinting person had picked their pockets and they were aimed at teaching her a lesson. Finally a refuge for escape caught the runner's eyes and it bolted madly for the door. Gripping the handle with its numb hands, the prey tried vainly to open it. Nerves and near frostbite kept it from getting a firm grip. Nearer and nearer the two bullies grew and in the last possible instant it managed to fling open the door and close it with a resounding bang. 

Upstairs, everyone heard the crash and froze before they all clamored down the stairs. Spot moved with a grace and dignity that he always moved, and pressed through the crowd as he moved down the stairs. He arrived at the bottom in the front of the group to see a heavily bundled person hastily attempting to put the lock on the door. When they succeeded, they turned to the group of boys and girls and began removing the layers of clothes. No one spoke or moved, everyone just watched the stranger slowly take off the bulky outer-wraps revealing the body of a young lady. Finally, she took off the bundles that were wrapped snuggly around her face and pulled off her hat. An abundance of tangled chestnut hair tumbled out and even through the heavy scarf her face was red from cold. Once she was adequately arranged, she looked up and made eye contact with Spot.

"I needs a place ta stay," She stated simply. "Wheah should I put me t'ings?"

Spot raised a surreptitious eyebrow and his trademark smirk creeped onto his face. Swaggering over to her, he slowly circled her, seeming to inspect her. The girl turned with him, shooting daggers from her black eyes. Seeming to be content with what he saw, Spot stopped circling and crossed his arms across his lean chest. He was only about an inch taller than the girl was, but that was enough. 

"Whot makes ya t'ink we'se goin' ta have room?" Spot asked.

"Dese rat-holes always has got room," She looked Spot up and down with disgust. "An' who says dat it mattahs whot yous t'ink. I'se only cahah whot da head guys gotta say," she thought about what she said, then added. "An' even den I don' cahah dat much."

"You talk big foah such a lil' goil," Spot mocked.

"An' you talks big foah an ass," she retorted and the whole group gasped. Spot, not used to the challenge of authority, was shocked but didn't show it.

"Well, well, well, we'se got us a goil wit' some spahk heah," his smug grin came. "You a newsie goil?"

"Of coyse I'se a newsie," She stood akimbo.

"'Ow many papes do ya sell?" Spot was curious.

"One-fifty," she sighed and tapped her foot and a low murmur went through the crowd. Only Spot sold that many papers.

"Wheah yous from?" Spot's steel-blue eyes narrowed with doubt.

"Look, I ain't heah ta ansoah questions," She sounded frustrated. "I'se got me money foah board, I gots me stuff, an' I sell papes just like the lot of ya," She fumed. "Now wheah's da man in chahge?"

"I'se in chahge," Spot knew she meant the lodging house owner, but he couldn't resist.

"You's da man in chahge, huh?" She looked at him skeptically. "I t'ink dat we'se must gotta differ'nt meanin' foah da woyd man," A mirthless smile crossed her heart shaped mouth. 

"Lis'en yous," Spot growled. "I'se got da powah ta make ya great oah make yous wish yous weah nevah boyn," he threatened.

"Oh, yous must be Spot Conlon," She said, the same cold smile on her lips.

"Yeah I'se 'im."

"Shame," she brushed her fingers through her long hair. "I'se kinda hopin' foah somet'ing impressive," her careless manner irritated Spot. A burning retort was melted on his mouth when a soft voice came from behind the counter.

"Can I help you?" It was the lodging house owner's daughter, Emily. Her raven hair tied back in a simple braid, her tiny features marking her childlike manners.

"Yeah," the new girl stepped away from Spot and slammed her dime on the counter. "I'se heah foah a bunk," Quietly, Emily took the money and motioned for the new girl to follow her.

"Wait," Spot called out and the chestnut head of hair turned to look at him. "Whot's youah name?"

"Yous can call me Frost," She answered, then ascended the stairs, the group of newsies part the way for her. 

When she was upstairs all of the newsies started talking. Some to each other, some to Spot, some to themselves, others simple stood in shock. Had that girl really just challenged Spot Conlon? That hadn't happened since Spot had gotten out of the Refuge. The power struggle had been brief, but deadly. No one spoke of the time anymore though, nobody wanted to risk the consequences.

Slowly the group filtered back upstairs, seeing that the action was over. Only Outsider and Spot were left in the front entryway. Deeply, Spot was brooding, he had to make this girl realize the way it worked around here. There were rules and limitations, and she had to follow them just like the rest of the newsies.

"Who does dat broad t'ink she is?" Spot muttered, he was pacing and Outsider looked nervous. "I'se Spot Conlon! I could 'ave 'er kilt if I wants ta!" he took off his cap and twisted it in his hands angrily. "I lasted six damn mont's in da Refuge wit'out nobody ta talk ta," He continued. "If she t'inks she's so tough, let's see 'er do dat!" Spot stopped pacing and looked at Outsider. "We'se gotta teach dat goil who's boss 'round heah."

"'Ow we'se goin' ta do dat?" Outsider scratched his head.

"I'se dunno," Spot's face furrowed. "We'se goin' ta do it dough," he looked at the stairs as Emily descended. "Hey yous," He went over to her and she looked at him blankly. "Wheah did ya put da new goil?"

"In one of the empty bunks in the girl's room," She replied softly. "I hope that isn't any problem."

"Nah," he shook his head. "T'anks anyways," he started up the stairs, maybe he could talk to this girl. What was he thinking? Of course he could talk to this girl, he could talk to this girl any time he wanted to , anywhere he wanted to. This was Brooklyn, he was Brooklyn, and this girl had no say about it whatsoever. 

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"Heah Pat, go get dat one," a taller boy pointed to a man bustling down the streets. He was well dressed and looked like he would have a fat wallet. Smiling, the little boy moved close to the man.

The street was fairly crowded today, but not as much as normal. Picking had been slim for their 'game' but Patrick still enjoyed being counted with the 'big' boys. Moving swiftly between people, ducking under carts and skirting out of the way of the passing traffic, Patrick moved so he was in front of the man. Then headed against the traffic so he sounding knocked into the left side of the man. At the contact, Patrick slipped his little hand into the pocket and pulled out a wallet, muttering an apology, he went back to the group of boys who looked pleased.

"Heah," little Patrick said, holding up his prize. They took it and opened it. By their faces it was apparent that the man would sorely miss it, but Patrick didn't realize this. All this meant to him was that he won the game again, and for his efforts they would give him some of the money from the wallet. The more he could give to his dad, maybe the happier he would be.

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Frost followed the quiet raven-haired girl, up the stairs. Handling the infamous Spot Conlon h ad been easier than she expected and now she was away from those that were chasing her. Foolhardy boys who thought her merely a prize, but they didn't get what they wanted and now she had to stay here. When they made it to the girl bunkroom, the girl who had led her there pointed to a bunk then left. Taking her things, she dropped them on the bed. 

These were all of her worldly possessions. The only things she had to show for her fifteen years. A moth eaten coat, gloves worn thin as paper, a knit hat that she had stolen and a thick scarf made of wool. Money and other personal articles were stored in her pockets, never leaving her body. The only thing of real value was the necklace she wore around her neck. From a thin gold chain hung a tiny cross with a red jewel in the center. As red as the life-blood that ran through her veins. Reaching for the chain, she pulled it up above her shirt to look at it. Gently, she fingered it until she heard someone come into the room. Hurriedly she replaced it inside of her shirt. 

Another girl with bright red hair and doe-like blue eyes entered followed by a brunette with eyes that matched the warm chocolate tone of her hair. Straightening to her full height, Frost glared at the girls. Neither of them looked too impressed, but they did seem slightly wary. 

"Hi, I'se Spitfire," the girl with red hair spoke. "An' dis is Flower," she introduced.

"Frost," She said simply spitting in her hand and holding it out to them. At the customary newsie greeting, the other two girls eased slightly and spat into their hand shaking Frost's. 

"Wheah yous from?" Spitfire asked.

"I ain't from nowheah," Frost sat on her bunk, not attempting to further the conversation.

"Oh," Flower answered. "Yous don' knows wheah yous from?" 

"No, I just ain't from nowheah," Frost made no pleasantries.

"Well I'se from Harlem, but I cames ovah heah a few yeahs back," Spitfire related.

"An' I'se new," Flower admitted. "But I comes from Brooklyn."

"Dat's nice," Frost said bitterly, laying down and closing her eyes. It was a good thing that Spot came through the door right then because the Spitfire and Flower were running out of topics. One look at them and a wave from his cane and they left hastily.

"I see yous met some o' da goils," Spot started, sitting on the bunk across from Frost and she didn't even open her eyes, but a sly smile crept onto her relaxed face.

"Spot Conlons," She said his name with a certain flare of distaste. "I hoyd yous weah in da Refuge," She cut him off before he could lay out the 'rules'. "Whatcha do ta get in dere?"

"Got caught," Spot said simply and she smiled a little more.

"The great leadah o' Brooklyn, caught," she seemed to find great mirth in this, and Spot bristled at this. "'Ow long did de lock ya up?"

"Six mont's, soilitahy," He was reminded of the conversation he had just had with Outsider.

"It took ya dat long ta get outta dere?" She kept her eyes closed as if she was sleeping, but her mouth moved freely. "I'se disappointed Conlon. I t'ought dat a legend like yous se'f woulda gotten outta dere fastah," She peeked open one eye and looked at him. "Yous shuah yous Spot?" 

"Yeah, I'se shuah and I gots some t'ing ta tell ya," He grabbed his shoulder suddenly and jerked her upright. Turning, she rose out of bed and moved a hand to strike him, outraged by his bold action, but he caught her fist in mid-air rising to his feet as well, keeping her wrist in his grip. "I'se da leadah heah an' if yous gotta problem wit' dat yous can leave," he ground out in a deadly low voice. "I don' cahah how many papes you sells oah if yous can pay foah youah board, I'se da leadah an whot I says goes," He let go of her wrist and she stepped back, jerking her hand down and holding it against her stomach. "Got it?"

"Yea, I'se got it," Frost muttered.

It had been too easy and Spot looked at her suspiciously. This was the first time he really got a good look at her, the other times he had been so mad that he hadn't taken her in. Her face was plain, almost ugly, her eyes were nearly black, blending in with the pupils, and her nose looked like it had been broken more than once. The hallows of her cheeks were painfully pronounced, she looked thin enough to break in two, her heart shaped mouth was pressed into a firm line, but Spot guessed that it could be very pretty if she ever genuinely smiled. Unarguably, her hair was her best feature. The waist length of thick reddish-brown tresses was straight as a board, even when tangled. Her stance was guarded, her face was set, no emotion was in her eyes and Spot chuckled, then turned and left her alone. 

Flinging herself down on her bed, Frost closed her eyes again. It wouldn't do to let him see how seething mad she was, she couldn't afford to show emotions. Now was the time to sleep, tomorrow she had a busy day and connections to make. Right now, her only goal was to make due in Brooklyn… and to be able to stay here.

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As was his custom, Spot rose earlier than the rest of the boys and headed to the washroom to prepare for the day. The time alone helped him to clear his head and prepare for the day. His early morning quiet time would be short lived however because someone else was in the washroom. Someone was in there without a shirt on, her long chestnut hair streaming down her back. Spot cleared his throat and she swiveled her head quickly to see who was there.

"Holy shit!" She exclaimed softly grabbing for the shirt on the washstand, and Spot turned around. "Whot da hell ah you doin' sneakin' in heah like dat?" Frost yanked the undershirt over her head and reached for her button-up.

"I'se comin in heah ta get ready ta sell papes," Spot answered. "Whot else would I'se be doin'?" He retorted. "It ain't like I wants ta see yous."

"Well ya could woyn a poyson!" Frost snapped as she turned around. "Just cause yous da leadah don't mean ya can't have no manners." Her tone was icy again.

"I'se 'ave just as much right ta dis heah bat'room as yous," Spot pointed out. "Pro'ly moah," he added for good measure, trying to get a reaction from her, he failed. "So don' you staht getting' all high an mighty wit' me!" He started unbuttoning the front of his long-john's.

"Whot ah yous doin'?" Frost asked.

"I'se getting ready foah da day," He answered, if she could be careless, he could be too. "If yous don' wanna see not'in don' look," he continued to button down the front of his jumpsuit until he was at the waist. Then sliding out his arms, he wrapped the empty sleeves around his waist, tying them firmly. 

Frustrated, Frost turned away and began brushing her long hair before plating it into a long braid. Every once in awhile, if she moved to the side enough, she could see him stripped the waist, washing. Then hastily she would move back, not caring to see that. Taking her sweet time with her braid, she would check every so often to see if he was dressed yet. It wasn't until after he had his long underwear buttoned back up that she turned and brushed past him out of the washroom. How the Brooklyn leader prepared himself for the day was no business of hers. 

Bundling up, she hurried out the door into the cold. Fresh snow lay on the ground, hardly spoiled by the early morning activity. It was beautiful, but she reminded herself that in less than an hour it would become nothing more than sludge. The bitter thought was true for much of the world. Things start out fresh and beautiful, but as time wears on they become overused and dirty. The philosophy made Frost walk a little faster to the distribution center. No one else was there yet, and it let her have time to think.

The time to think was lessened considerably when Frost saw a boy with a cocky swagger approaching her. _Spot_, she thought and instantly turned off her emotions. 

"I goes in foist," Spot informed her without any of the customary greetings. 

"But I was heah foist," Protested Frost. 

"But I'se da leader an' yous follow me," he crossed his arms and stood beside her at the front, not looking at her. "Got it?"

"Got it," she spoke evenly. Being second wouldn't be too bad; it was better than third, but worse than first. The only part she heard of that was the worst. 

"So whot were yous runnin' from last night?" Spot attempted conversation.

"Nonya business," she snipped. 

"I knows why dey call yous Frost," Spot chuckled to himself.

"Dey probably call yous Spot cause ya ain't any biggah dan one," she retorted sourly.

"Watch youah mout' goil oah I'll make it so yous can't talk," Spot threatened dangerously. He may have been short, but he wouldn't take any guff from anyone.

"Fine," she relinquished, but there was no submission in her tone. 

"Fine," he said to emphasize the point that really hadn't been made.

"Fine," she repeated, always trying to get in the last word.

Spot let her have her little victory knowing that he held power over her. The sweet feeling of control seeped into his cold blood like honey. It was something he relished and something that no one could take away, even a fast tongued girl.

The silence between the two droned on as the sounds of the street began to pick up. Just as Frost had predicted, the lovely white snow was already being trampled into a brownish-gray sludge that seeped into the holes of her shoes, soaking into her socks, and making her miserable. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself a little tighter. 

"Cold a'ready?" Spot mocked and she looked at him. He had been watching her, that terrible smirk covering his face. 

"No," She answered. "I was thinking," she added then ignored him.

__

Strange goil, Spot thought. _Friendly enough ta make ya want ta get to know her but just enough ice ta chill ya. _

The skies opened as they stood there and frozen angel's tears floated to the ground, covering the people with white specks. They watched the flakes float lazily to the ground to disappear into the endless piles of them that already were there. It was an odd sight for anyone that passed by. Two people huddling against the cold, but a few feet apart from each other. Obviously having a connection but not wanting one, sometimes a few words would be exchanged and the boy would look strangely pleased with himself, but the girl's face was unreadable. The was the scene that the group of newsies approached, the girls huddled together as they gossiped and the boys grouped only to fend off the cold from cutting into their skin.

Together they talked and joked at the gates, the girls tried to include Frost, and she would comment here and there but took no real part in the conversation. Finally the gates opened and they made their way to get the papers.

****

. : ^_^ : .

"Yous in my spot," A voice came from behind her and she whirled around to see Spot Conlon standing there, smirk in place.

"I didn't see no signs tellin' me dat I couldn't sells heah," Frost shot back.

"Well I'se da markah yous lookin' foah an' dis heah is my spot," he adjusted his papers on his shoulder and noted that she did have just as many as him.

"So you wants me ta leave?" She tinted her voice with a little sarcasm.

"Nah, yous can stay foah today," he offered and she raised an eyebrow.

"Whot's da catch?" She waited to hear what his angle was.

"Yous stop challengin' my aut'ority," he answered simply, obviously he had thought this out.

"An' how do I knows dat dis is youah spot? How do I knows that you ain't just bluffin'?" she shifted her papers. 

"Cause Spot Conlon can sell wheah evah 'e wants," the boy told her. "But dis is wheah I noymally sells me papes." 

"Wheah do ya not noymally sell youah papes?" Her keen business sense kicking in.

"Wheah evah da hell I want," with that he smiled and began hawking the headline.

Right now wasn't the time to be making powerful enemies, it was the time to make nice with them, and she had enough enemies without adding Spot Conlon to the list. So she walked away, selling the occasional paper as she kept moving. A few streets away, she started selling. It didn't seem like anyone else was laying claim to that Spot right then so she used her sales skills to begin selling her papers. The reason that no one was staked here was soon fairly obvious, no one was buying papers. Even with her exceptional skills, no one would even give her a second look.

__

Whot is it an' dis street? She wondered, and moved into a different area. Selling was better there, but not by much. By lunch she hadn't even sold half of her papes and her feet were already completely numb. Scowling, she trudged into yet a different spot. It was dark before she limped back to the lodging house, she could already see the satisfied smirk on Spot's face.

****

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__

"Look whot I got da," little Patrick shoved his way inside and dumped all of his treasure onto the table in front of his father. 

The money clattered as it rolled and landed on the hard wooden surface. Bills and coins lay scattered over the surface and Patrick's father looked more suspicious that surprised. 

"You won all dis in a game?" He asked skeptically and the little boy nodded. "Yous dat good at pokah?" his dad asked. 

"Whot's pokah?" Patrick scratched his head, he was sure that wasn't the name of the game he played. Now that he thought of it, the boys had never told him what the name of the game was. All he knew was that when he got caught, the people got really mad and he had to run fast. 

"It's a cahd game," His father explained, eyes darkening. "Yous not been getting' dis money from a cahd game?" 

Patrick looked around the room, his mother was looking at him expectantly, Rebecca was pretending to study, but was really listening to the conversation and his brother had already left the room. Something inside of Patrick told him that he had done something very bad, very bad indeed. Frantically he turned his big turquoise eyes to his father and his lip began to quiver.

"Da boys on da street said dat it was good," he tried to explain. "Dey said it were a game."

"Patrick, wheah did ya get da money?" His mother prompted.

"I'se been takin' it outta people's pockets, but dats da way da game is played," he pleaded and saw the fear leap into his mother's eyes and the anger leap into his fathers. "I didn' mean ta be bad." 

"Come wit' me boy, I'se goin' ta teach you a lesson," His father spoke gravely, taking the boy by the wrist and leading him into the bedroom. Whenever father said that it meant that someone was going to get a beating.

"Giles, he didn't know no bettah," his mother begged for her baby. "Don't hoyt him!" 

"I'se sorry," Giles muttered then shut the door.

Patrick didn't remember much else about that night except the fear and the pain he felt the next morning. All he knew was that he wasn't allowed to go to work with his mommy anymore. Now he went with sister, Rebecca and brother, John to the factory and worked. He worked on the big machines that wove cloth for the rich people. He grew pale and despondent. It was inside those factory walls, that the tiny boy who never spoke much, and often could be seen hiding against a wall was named Spot. 

****

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__

//The memories of days long ago,

The dreams of yesterdays long dead,

Come back at night,

Come back and haunt me…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

"You knows dat if you coat da bottom of ya shoes wit' tah dey don't leak none," she heard a voice come up behind her as she cowered at the stove, trying to bring life back to her long dead feet. 

"Whot?" she asked, turning to see Spot smoking a cigarette. 

"Ya go down ta da docks an' da sailors gots tah foah dere boats. Sometimes dey'll give ya some ta put on ya shoes," he lifted his foot to show the dark rubber like substance that coated the bottom of his shoe. "Keeps out da snow," he pointed at her shoes as they dried by the fire. "Yous'll be needin' a doctah ta cut off youah toes afore winters ovah if you weah does much longah," he pointed out and she bristled.

"T'ank yous," she muttered and moved back to rubbing her numb foot. The slightest prickles of life were beginning to show and it hurt, but the pain was a good sign. Tar, who would have thought of that for a solution? True, there were fishermen around that used it to patch their boats, but shoes? It was so simple it was almost too simple.

"So wheah yous from?" Spot asked again. 

"I ain't from nowheah," she answered, eyeing the smoke hanging carelessly from his lips. "Ya got anodda one o' doe's?" she asked and he fished deep into his pocket before handing her another nicotine stick. Lighting it in the stove, she took a long deep inhale. It had been a long time since she had been able to satisfy her nicotine fix. "T'anks," she breathed a deep sigh of contentment.

"So yous goin' ta tell me wheah yous from now?" He knew that she bow though the cigarette only a bribe.

"I told ya, I don't come from nowheah. I'se been too many places ta call one home," she breathed in deeply again, watching the cloud of smoke come from her lips. "Yous from 'round heah?" she turned to conversation to him.

"Yeah," he answered. "I'se from 'round heah," he frowned, and watched the red ball at the end of the white stick grow nearer to her lips. "How many places yous been from. You sounds like yous from New Yawk." He stated.

"It's easy enough to change youah voice," she slipped into a slow southern drawl. "You canna be judging a lass by her tongue," she added in a Scottish brogue. "I'se from lotsa places," she finished back in her street speak.

"Yous a confusing goil," Spot frowned, more than slightly amazed at the ease of her vocal transitions.

"I'se been called woise," she smiled slightly, holding the fag loosely in between her fingers. "How old ah yous?" She squinted slightly, as if trying to picture him differently.

"Fifteen," he admitted, taking a long haul off of his nicotine stick. "Feel oldah dough." She laughed slightly at his last comment, understanding what he meant.

Most of the newsies could claim the same thing. Their innocence had been shattered a long time ago, but their hope was the only thing that kept them alive. If they let that die, then there wasn't any chance for them. Most of these kids had seen more of the bad side of the world than anyone should ever have to see in a lifetime. Most of them had lived most of what they had seen too. All of the had been beaten, or abused in some way. They all had lost someone, by choice or not, and they all were running from something.

"So who's you runnin' from?" Spot picked up the conversation again as he watched her rub her feet, her cigarette balancing in her mouth.

"Who evah I can outruns," she grimaced as feeling started to surge back into her toes. The truth of her cryptic answers puzzled Spot. He could walk away from this conversation feeling like he knew a lot about this girl when he really knew nothing for sure. "Everybody's got somet'ing dey are tryin' to outrun. Whot 'bout you?" 

"I don't got not'in," he lied. "No one cahahs enough ta chase me," a wry grin crossed his face as he tossed the butt of his cigarette into the flames.

"'Ey Spot," Outsider came up to him. "'Ey Frost," he greeted the girl and she nodded in acknowledgement. 

"Whot do ya want Outsidah?" Spot asked.

"We'se stahtin' a game o' pokah," He informed them. "If yous two wants ta join us, ya can," he offered.

"I'se in," Spot stood and looked at Frost. "Yous wanna play?" He offered his hand to Frost to help her off of the floor.

"Shuah," she took Spot's hand and he pulled her up so they were standing nearly nose to nose. "I'se hoyd dat da Brooklyn leadah's good at pokah," she breathed. "Let's just see how good he is," she pulled back and followed after Outsider leaving Spot to trail along behind them.

****

. : ^_^ : .

A group of ten had started in the game and now they were down to four. Outsider, Spot, Frost, and Spitfire were the only ones that held out long enough. Spot showed no emotions, but neither did Frost, Spitfire would frown now and then and Outsider almost looked bored. Spitfire folded the next round, Outsider added money to the pot as did Spot and Frost. Frost appeared to have quite a bit of cash on her for taking so long on selling, but Spot didn't comment. He already knew the kind of answer he would receive.

Soon they were all simply staring around the circle, making eye contact with each other as they held out, waiting for another to fold. They all held the steel-eyed calm and the composure of the most trained criminal. No one in the room talked as they watched the three in the depths of concentration. Finally Outsider lay down his cards.

"Straight," He declared and turned to Spot who lay down his cards.

"Flush," he smirked, knowing that the flush beat a straight, but not by much.

"Flush," Frost frowned as she lay down her cards, she and Spot had drawn the same hand in different suits. Each held the exact same numbers, and Spot scowled. 

"How'd ya do dat?" He asked.

"I didn't do not'in'!" Frost exclaimed. "Dat's just whot I got," she pointed and he looked. Her hand was the mirror image of his heart, but hers were diamonds. 

"How ah we'se goin' ta know who's da winnah?" Outsider scratched his head, already forgetting the sore disappointment of losing in the rarity and hilarity of the situation.

"Draw anodda cahd," Suggested Flower. "High cahd wins."

Looking back and forth at each other, Spot and Frost agreed that Flower's solution was probably the most reasonable and each picked up a card from the top of the pile. Neither one looked but waited, then turned them over to reveal the winner. 

****

. : ^_^ : .

"I beat ya," Spot gloated over Frost the next day.

"By one damn point," she reminded him.

"But I still won," they had walked down to the docks early that morning and had Frost's shoes patched. Then walked to the distribution center. 

"I'll beat ya next time," she swore. 

"No ya won't," he challenged. 

"Oh yeah?" she raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Whot makes ya say dat?"

"Nobody beats Spot Conlon at not'in," he said, his voice filled with pride.

"I'se goin' ta prove ya wrong one o' dese days," she promised. "Just yous wait."

"Is dat a threat?" he mocked.

"Only if ya want it ta be," she shoved her hands into her threadbare coat pockets.

"It ain't polite foah lil' goils ta be makin' threats," he teased, and on went the bickering.   
A pair of doves huddled above them on a lamppost, watching the boy a girl with curiosity. Their play was disruptive to their calm morning, but they were oblivious to the intrusion that they were causing. The noise, they could stand, but it was when a poorly aimed snowball hit dangerously close that they decided to fly away. Pushing off of the freezing metal, they flew up into the swirling snowflakes and into the horizon.

****

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A/N: Well I hope you liked this. It is kind of long I guess, but I really am depressed that I can't just sit down and write a friggin' long chapter. -Growls- Oh well, I would love it if you would review me because I am a review monger. I don't just want you to be nice to me either, tell me what sucks about this story! NOW! Candy-corn to all of those that are honest with me.


	3. Counting the Snow

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Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story.

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A/N: Sorry this took awhile to update. My Internet had been really freaky lately and I've been finishing up finals. It doesn't help that I am sick too. Bah humbug! - growls - Spot!Muse gives Raven some chicken soup. Aw… Isn't he sweet? - laughs - Just leave it to Spot to make everything better with his wonderful personality. ^_^ Enjoy!

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG-13 for language and deaths O_O Yes that is right, someone(s) _dies _in this chapter! - gasp - It isn't like I don't regularly kill people in my fics. ^_^. If either of these are things that will bother or offend you, I suggest you don't read any more. If you are old enough to stomach a few cuss words and a little blood, read on.

****

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Chapter 2: Counting the Snow

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//Her words are cryptic,

Her expressions are few,

She answers my questions,

Only to leave me with more…//

****

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The tar worked surprisingly well to keep the cold out of her shoes. Selling went better today as well, she needed it to go well. She had lost a lot of money in the poker game last night. Damn that Spot Conlon. She had drawn a king, she thought she had the game won, but he drew an ace. What were the odds that out of all the cards in the deck, he would draw the only card that would beat hers? He had cheated and she was sure of it. Something in the way his eyes had twinkled right after he drew the card had told her. The tiny glint had been well hidden and almost unnoticeable, but she had notice… the cheating bastard.

Nothing could be done about it now. The game was over and there wasn't any way to prove that he had been cheating. Only a suspicion, that wasn't founded on anything besides something that could have been a trick of light. It didn't really matter though. She still had enough money for a few meals, board, and meals if she watched herself. 

__

"Yous always werah a clevah goil, weren'tcha Spectah?" The voice echoed in the back of her mind. _"But yous'll nevah be more clevah dan me. You knows why?"_ Shaking her head, Frost cleared her head of the memories she longed to forget. Now wasn't the time to reminisce, now was the time to sell papers. 

****

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The wind was biting cold, the sky an ashen gray, random snow flurries obstructed sight and icicles hung from ledges and windowsills. Welcome to New York in the winter. For as unbearably hot it was in the summer, it was miserably cold in the winter. The inferno had changed to an icebox in a mater of weeks. Fall had been especially short lived this season and the boysand girls of Brooklyn had to try extra hard to keep warm in the wrath of old man winter. 

One of those boys was newsie leader, Spot Conlon. His hawking area was doing as well as it normally did, but not as well as he would have liked. People were always in a little bit more a hurry when the weather was cold. They didn't like to take a few seconds and move their hand from there warm pocket to hand out a penny or two to a boy selling the headlines. Sighing deeply he looked up into the falling snow.

****

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__

"Come on Patrick, we'se goin' ta be late!" John called to his little brother. The boy had been standing in a snowdrift, staring at the sky, trying to count the snowflakes as they fell.

"I'se tryin' ta count da snow!" Protested little Patrick. 

"Ya can't count da snow Pat, it's impossible," John sighed and walked over to the little boy, grabbing his arm and pulling him along with him. They had been running slower than normal this morning and were already late. 

"Whot's inpostibal?" Patrick asked, jerking his arm away from his brother's rude grasp.

"It means ya can't do it," Rebecca joined the conversation. "Just like ya can't touch da moon, it's impossible," she defined, and John rolled his eyes. 

"Why's it inpostibal?" Patrick puzzled.

"Impossible," John groaned, frustrated.

"Impostible," Patrick mimicked.

"Impossible," John corrected.

"In - impost…"

"Impossible."

"Im - poss - i - ble," Patrick finally managed. "Impossible."

"Right," John nodded.

"Nothin' is impossible," Patrick said plainly. "An' someday I'se goin' ta count da snow."

****

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"Boy, I'd like to buy a paper," a businessman's voice spoke to Spot.

"Huh?" He snapped back into reality from his observances of the weather above him. "Oh, dats goin' ta be a penny mistah," Spot held out his hand and waited for the cold metal bit to be pressed into his palm. When he felt it, he extended the paper and pocketed the coin. 

Such was the life of a newsie, nothing more than a human vending machine.

Jingling the coins in his pocket he began to call out the headlines. A few days back, he'd lost his voice from yelling out in the cold, so he was cutting down his yelling and working mainly on a person to person level. Adjusting his papers on his shoulder he headed into the crowd, selling paper after paper, until finally all of his rags were gone. Whistling under his breath, Spot shivered against the cold. No sense in going back to the lodging house, nothing to do there, he was going to go and see the competition. Spot was going to go and see just how good this Frost girl was at selling papers. 

Down the streets of Brooklyn, he wove his way, occasionally dipping his hand into someone pocket as he bumped into them on the street. It was almost mindless habit to do such, just like whenever he read something, he picked out the most interesting bits before actually reading it straight through. The boy pushed his way back into the alleyways, moving towards the way he had seen Frost move. 

"Look whot we 'ave heah," A voice came from behind Spot. "Looks like a lil' boy's lost 'is way," the voice taunted him, but Spot kept moving. He knew who it was. It was Charlie Pullvine, one of the three brothers that Spot knew he was talking to. The Pullvine brothers were Brooklyn's version of the DeLancey boys. Two were big, ugly, and stupid, the other one, was short, ugly, and the brighter one of the group, which didn't say much about him. 

"I ain't lost," Spot continued to walk, not intimidated by the thugs.

"Den why's ya walkin' back heah Conlon?" Charlie, the smallest of the brothers, spoke.

"I'se goin' ta see a frie-" Spot paused. "Someone."

"Ya should knows bettah dan ta walk alone back heah," Growled Chester Pullvine.

"An' why's dat?" Spot turned and walked backwards, so he could look at them.

"Ya nevah know who's ya goin' ta run inta," Charlie made a motion with his hand and both of the goons started towards Spot. 

Simply raising his cane, Spot gave each of them a good whack over the head. While they were still stunned, he jogged back, fetching his slingshot and a few shooters. Aiming, he hit Charlie first, who hadn't gotten a taste of his cane, then Chester, then Caleb. The shots were all deadly accurate, giving Spot just enough time to get away. 

Hand to hand, Spot would never be able to take those buffoons because they were huge. Even Charlie, the smallest one, was a few good inches taller than he was. They weren't too bright, but they did know how to do one thing, and that was fight. Their reaction time wasn't the greatest, but one solid hit to the jaw from Chester or Caleb and you would be out like a light. 

Now in the busy streets, the smaller boy was able to blend into the crowd without so much as a second thought. With a Cheshire smile, Spot watched the three bumbling idiots try to find him, as he stayed hidden behind a street vendor. The group quickly gave up their search, and returned to their shadowy stalking place. Someone wouldn't be as lucky today, the most part of the reason he got away was his reputation and he knew it. Those boys could have easily attacked him at any time when he had his back turned. Never would he admit the fact that this oversized, under-brained, clumsy ox's would be able to get the better of him. 

"Look yous, I ain't in youah spot, an' I'se woikin' hahd heah, so would ya mind leavin'?" Spot knew that voice.

"I'se done wit' my papes," he turned to find a very cold looking Frost. "Is da tah woikin' a'ight on ya shoes?" He pointed with his cane.

"Yeah," She pulled her thin coat closer around her narrow shoulders. "It's woikin' fine, t'anks."

"'Ow many papes you got left?" He asked, knowing that she had near forty.

"Dunno," She shifted the papers that she held at their mention. "But I'se gotta go sell dem now," She started to leave.

"A'ight," he made his own moves to leave. "Just don' go back inta doe's allies," he pointed but she didn't ask why, so he didn't tell her. If she didn't want to know, he wasn't going to tell her. 

__

So dis is wheah she's sellin', he thought. _I t'ought dis we'ah Ghost sold_, he moved towards some steps and took a seat._ Not'in wrong wit' lookin',_ he reasoned. _An' if she sells as much as me, I gots a right ta look_, he swirled his cane in a pile of sludge. 

"Extrie! Extrie! Read all 'bout it! Hookah found froze tied up froze ta deat' outside! Murdah suspected!" Frost called and Spot frowned. What headline had that been? Could it have been the one about the barmaid? Or the article telling of the numerous deaths from living out in the unsheltered cold? Maybe she had combined the two into one more alluring headline. Her shouting continued, but few bought papers. 

He went unnoticed, but he watched her every move. It was when he watched her hands that he saw what she was doing. The girl was playing pickpocket with her customers! Spot was flabbergasted. No newsie did that on the job, it just wasn't done! That's how she had gained her money for poker. The girl was a bloody thief. A slow smile crept onto his face. So, this Frost was not only good at selling papers, she stole from those who purchased her wares. He had seen enough, he was cold, and he was going back to the lodging house. Tonight, there promised to be an interesting conversation. 

****

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__

The strange boy with dark hair and light eyes stared up at the sky again. The frozen angel tears sticking to his eyelashes and the soft planes of his boyish features. Some who passed by would have sworn him to be a statue as he stood so still staring into the heavens above, others that he was asleep, but most didn't dwell on the unusual boy. No, that would take too much time from their own precious thoughts. 

"Patrick! Get in heah befoah ya freeze ta death!" His mother called to him from out the window. 

"No, I'se countin' da snow!" He insisted. 

"You're goin' ta catch youah death!" His mother told him. "Besides, ya canna count tha snow, it be impossible," Her Irish accent clear, overpowering the Brooklyn one that she had learned to use. No one liked the Irish, so she would hide it when she could.

"Not'in is impostable," he frowned and then repeated. "Impossible."

"Don't make me come out there an' get you, lad," His mother threatened. 

Blinking for the first time since he had heard his mother's voice, the boy lowered his head with great deliberation. Turning it from side to side, as if to test if it still worked, Patrick looked up at his mother in the window. 

"Muddah, how is I goin' ta know if it's impossible if I nevah try?" he asked sincerely. 

For that question, the mother had no answer, and let the boy try to count the snow for a few more minutes. It was all she could do, for no real mother had the heart to crash the dreams of her child.

****

. : ^_^ : .

"So how much did ya steal taday?" Spot dropped the question casually as he walked over. For a moment, he thought that he actually saw a flash of true emotions in her eyes. 

"Doncha mean sell?" She returned to her leisurely reclining pose against one of the bunks.

"You knows just whot I mean," Spot moved to the pole opposite of her and met her midnight eyes. "You's a foist hand pickpocket," the smirk was in place.

"I don' know whot da hell yous talkin' 'bout," Frost answered coolly.

"I stuck 'round longs enough ta see ya clean out a couple o' people dis aftahnoon," he answered plainly. "'Ow longs ya bee picking off o' people?"

"I ain't no thief," she took her one long, single braid and tossed her behind her shoulders. "I gets what I get, an' I oin it too."

"I noticed dat you seem ta go foah da people dats wearin' dem long ovah coats," Spot continued. "Ya like dat extrie layah 'tween you an' da poyson?" He asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"I don't knows whot yous talkin' 'bout," She brushed him off smoothly.

"I'se been watchin' yous an' I really t'ink dat yous got da technique wrong," he informed. "Ya really should go foah da right instead o' da left, most peoples ah right handed an' dey drop dere change and wallet in dat pocket," He kept testing her, trying to get some sort of reaction.

"If I were a thief, dis would all be real interestin'," she pushed away from her post. "But I ain't, so it ain't," with that she turned to leave. In one smooth movement, Spot had his hand in one of her pockets and pulled out a large handful of coins. 

"An' yous goin' ta tell me dat dis is from sellin' youah papes taday?" The triumphant glow already radiating from his eyes. 

"Give dat back," Frost spoke, trying to avoid attracting any more attention than they already had.

"Not till ya tell me wheah ya gots it?" Spot shook his head.

"I gots it from woykin', it's me life's savin's," She lied glibly.

"Us newsies don't steal," Spot said plainly. "At least not on da job," he amended, he had picked his own share of pockets after his papers were gone. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't afford board and food most of the time. "Just wanted yous ta know dat," he handed her back the change he had stolen, knowing that she was lying to him. His point had been made, and his authority position established further. The thought was a bleak reward. Going to his bunk, he grabbed his coat and shrugged it onto his shoulders.

"Wheah yous goin' Spot?" Outsider called when he saw his comrade putting on his jacket. It was freezing outside, and Spot normally stayed in on nights like these.

"I'se goin' foah a walk," he tugged his cap down extra low and trudged out the door. No one noticed the girl that followed him.

****

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The sky was dropping it's overly full reserve tonight as the tiny white specks dotted the sky and fell to the ground to be trampled by the careless feet of those that passed by. The careless feet of people like Spot Conlon. Without thinking, his feet were taking him to the bridge. The later he stayed there, the less he had to sleep, the less he had to sleep, the less he had to dream, the less he had to dream, the less he had to remember. It was a vicious cycle, but at least it was familiar. 

The tiny ice crystals smashed under his feet as he ambled onward, his thoughts consuming him. The normally tall, proud stature was gone, replaced by poor posture with slumped shoulders and dragging steps. The terrible reality of his solitary life was crashing down around him. When he was around his friends, he was more alone than he had ever been in the refuge. Each time he thought of this, the urge to jump returned. 

__

Who knows? He thought. _Maybe Is'll do it tanight…_ his thoughts drifted as he caught sight of something moving behind him in the reflection of his gold tipped cane. Spinning around, he did a sensory search, but not finding anything he returned to his walking, there was something familiar about this night. The way the snow crunched under his feet, and the way it feel from above, the biting cold and the terrible feeling that he held inside. He knew this feeling, from a long time ago, something hidden far away, not for anyone else. Tugging on his cap, he brushed away the mystery and trudged onward to his possible doom.

****

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__

// I don't know,

I remember this all,

But I don't,

It's like a memory from a dream…//

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"John, Rebecca, take Patrick down to the diner on the corner, your da an' I have some t'ing we need ta woyk out," their mother said to them, and the older children seemed to know what she meant.

Lately, their father had been coming home in a bad temper and a bottle in his hand. Patrick wasn't sure what was in that bottle, but it smelled terrible and made his dad do things he had never done before without reason. Like hit his mother, his sibling, or him. Before when his dad had thrashed him, it had always been for a good reason. Like after he had been pick pocketing, there had been a reason. Now he would come home, and if Patrick even looked at his father the 'wrong way' it was cause to hit him.

Not understanding his father's mood swings, Patrick would try to talk to his dad, offering comfort only to be shunned or beaten. Lately, his old man had been getting more and more violent. Sometimes, his mother would send them all on an errand, but when they came back, mother was always crying and father was no where in sight. The next day, mommy would almost always have a new bruise.

There had been a lot of money talk too. Patrick couldn't understand what the problem was, but he knew it had to do with the coins and bills that he had seen so many times and the ones that he had stolen. They needed more of it, and Patrick only knew one way to get it. When they went out into the streets tonight, he quickly separated from his brother and sister. Try as the duo might, they couldn't find the little boy who seemed to have vanished into thin air. After a long hard search, they went on, hoping that they would find him on the way. They wouldn't find him though. He was off earning money the only way he knew how. 

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//A memory from a dream,

Nothing tangible,

Nothing complete,

Just something that haunts…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

"Yous don' have da guts ta jump," Spot swiveled his head at the uninvited voice.

"Nevah said I'se gunna," he covered the deep thought that he had been having with his normal cocky mask. "I dunno 'bout yous, but I'se not jumpin'."

"Smoke?" Frost offered as she reached him and he took it from her outstretched hand. 

"Gotta match?" his muttered and she provided one. He uttered his thanks and then they both faced out over the siding on the bridge. Silence reigned in a comfortable way for a time before Frost spoke.

"How'd ya know 'bout my pick pocketin'?" She asked and Spot grinned wryly. So, she admitted it.

"I gots my ways," he answered confidently.

"I'se hoyd 'bout youah lil' boidies," she laughed cynically, her laugh turning into a cough.

"'Ave ya now?" He chuckled. "Seems dat evahybody's hoyd 'bout dem, I'se doin' somet'ing wrong I guess," he took a long drag before going on. "But I didn't need 'em foah dis."

"Yous da one dat was spyin' on me?" She asked, voice void of emotion.

"Not spyin'," he shook his head. "Observin'," he nodded. 

"Do ya make habit o' watchin' all da new kids 'round dese parts?" She inquired.

"Nah, just da ones I don' trust," Spot answered freely, watching her reaction.

"Didn't 'spect ya ta trust me," she wrapped her mouth around the butt of her fag. "Not many do," she exhaled heavily, watching the smoke swirl upward against the falling snow.

"Ya said yous been a newsie afore," Spot entered the topic smoothly. "Wheah ya sold?"

"Lotsa differ'nt places," she coughed against slightly. "Not all o' dem was in New Yawk," She admitted before taking another deep breath of smoke.

"Outta state?" Spot wondered out loud. That must have been why she could play the vocal chameleon. 

"Yea, whot's it to ya?" she turned and blew her smoke into his face in a fairly playful fashion.

"Not'in," Spot didn't flinch under the assault. "Just askin'," the silence drew long again and Spot finally flicked his finished cigarette over the edge of the bridge, followed by Frost's. The conversation was over. 

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

Through the streets, the little dark hair boy darted. His pale face and sunken cheeks stood testament to his days in the factory, spent away from the light and good food. His dirty hands made their ways into pocket after pocket, taking some of the treasure that they had worked hard to earn. 

Though his father had said that this was wrong, what he was doing was wrong too and Patrick knew it. The cold hard metal felt so good in his palm, it made him feel like he finally had control over his own little world. Finally he had his fill and went to find his siblings. He went to the diner, but they weren't there, and he couldn't find them in the streets, so he did what any little boy would have. Patrick went home.

****

. : ^_^ : .

"Damn ya Spot Conlon," Frost muttered, seeing the confidant swagger approaching him. "Damn ya ta hell," She knew that he was already done selling his papers. While she might sell as many as he did, there was no way she could sell them as fast. "Ya goin' ta make a habit outta watchin' me Conlon?" she asked as soon as he was near enough. "If yous gunna, I'se gunna havta chahge ya," She spoke with a serious enough tone that Spot didn't know if she meant it or not.

"I'se heah ta tell ya somet'ing," he brushed off her comment about payment. 

"Whot?" She didn't wait but called out the headline she had doctored. 

"Ya sold in Manhattan didn't ya," he stated it more than asked.

"Yea, I'se sold dere," she nodded. "I should tell ya da story some time. Buy me lunch an' I might," she tempted. Any real information from that girl would be welcome, but Spot wasn't about to grovel. 

"Well I'se goin' ta dat area an' I makes a habit o' getting' messages from me boys foah da boys ovah dere. Ya got anyt'ing ya want ta tell anybody?" Spot could have sworn that her spine had grown slightly more rigid when he asked, but he assumed it to be wishful thinking of actually getting a reaction out of the girl.

"No," She shook her head, her long braid swinging. "I ain't got no one ta talk ta ovah dere. Dey all hates me," She laughed bitterly at the self-deprecating humor.

"A'ight," he nodded, wondering if she meant what she said, she had a feeling that it was true. "I'se off," with that he was gone, cane swinging, head held high, smirk in place no doubt. The same unapproachable, intimidating, overly confident, bastard that she had heard about. How different than the boy she had shared the smoke with last night. The boy was an enigma, but then again, so was she. 

****

. : ^_^ : .

The leaders were going to Queens today to meet with Brink, their leader. It was only Manhattan and Brooklyn that were going there, but Spot has some things he needed to talk to Jack about before they walked back to Queens. While it was doubling his walking time, he didn't care. Frost had sold there and maybe they knew something about her. 

Crossing the bridge to Manhattan, he paused and looked down. It had been awhile since had actually been able to see what was under him. His late night walks had always cloaked his possible future with darkness. Maybe that was a good thing. The drop would be long, but maybe he would fall fast. 

Now wasn't the time though, now was the time for meeting, now was the time for friendship, and now was the time for life. There would be plenty of time for death, but now wasn't the time. Passing some children, he watched them stand on their tiptoes, trying to yell over the side of the bridge and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

How long ago had it been that he had tried to do that with his brother and sister? They had to hold him up, but he had done it once on one of the hottest days of the summer. They had been coming home from the factory and they had made the stop under the insistence of their baby brother. They had been good to him, his brother and sister, it was a shame…

No, now wasn't the time for remembering either. Now was the time to think of the future, now was the time to move on. It had been months since Jack and Spot had gone to Queens, and they didn't know what to suspect. As far as Spot knew, Jack was still mourning over the loss of a mysterious girl that he had never met. Someone that they had dubbed 'The Cowgirl of Manhattan.' Whoever the whore had been, she had torn him up pretty well. She was the first girl he had after he discovered that his relationship with Sarah was nothing more than a close friendship. As far as Spot knew, he wasn't over the girl, and never would be. Sometimes there were girls like that, the kind that wiggled their way under your skin like a splinter. Maybe this girl was Jack's splinter. 

The thought of old flames distracted Spot from his childhood past. Now he was in Manhattan, the Brooklyn Bridge behind him. The streets of the whole New York territory were ruled by Spot Conlon, he knew them all, and they respected him. The newsboys were abuzz when the living legend walked in the door and was met by their own leader, the Cowboy of Manhattan. 

"How you's doing, Brooklyn?" Jack asked after the customary greeting of the spit-shake was exchanged. 

"I'se alive," He offered. "Whot 'bout you Jackie boy?" He put his cane in the crook of his elbow, his slingshot in the waistband of his pants.

"I'se good," he nodded. "Yous ready ta go?" the tall boy asked. 

"No," Spot responded. "I'se got some messages foah youah boys from some o' mine," with that he began calling out the greetings, telling who they were from and who they were for. After this was done, he turned back to Jack. "Yeah, I'se ready ta go now," with that, the duo of leaders left. "I saw some new boys," Spot dropped casually as they fought their way to Queens against the bitter wind. 

"Yeah, dere's a couple," he conceded. "Seems dat evahybody wants ta be a newsie," he chuckled and Spot nodded in agreement. 

"Dere's some new ones in Brooklyn too," he eased into the topic. "Most o' dem won' make it," Jack's face showed understanding in this comment. "Some will, like dis one goil. Goes by da name Frost, says she's sold afore in lotsa differ'nt place," Spot looked at his dark companion. "She says she sold heah," he didn't see any remembrance in Jack's face. "Ya knows 'er?"

"I nevah had no goil heah named Frost," Jack frowned. "Haven't had too many goils 'round," he searched his memory. "Ain't been none of dem dats sold papes afore been heah foah a long time," his face grew distant. "Not foah a long time," Spot knew that he was thinking about the famous Cowgirl and moved on. 

"Ya hoyd anyt'ing from Queens?" He changed the subject.

"I hoyd dat Brink lost 'is goil," Jack shrugged. "So 'e ain't goin' ta be in da best mood," he speculated. If they only knew how true that statement would be.

****

. : ^_^ : .

The leader meeting never took place. Brink was madder than a mother bear that had lost her cubs. When the other two made it to the warehouse where the Queens newsies stayed, they were nearly run out of the area. Apparently, not only had this mysterious girl left Brink with a broken heart, but she had also taken his favorite pair of brass knuckles. The ones that had his name real name engraved on them and little brass balls on each of the knuckles, adding to the insurance of extreme pain for the one who was being assaulted.

So the leaders went their separate ways, not really knowing what to do about it. So the mysterious Specter of Queens was now a thing of the past and Spot wondered where she was now. It had stopped snowing for the time being, leaving the sky a deep shade of gray that was quickly fading to black. The snow had redeemed the bland sky, but now it remained the same dull continuous stretch of smoke gray. 

Shoving into the lodging house, he kicked the snow off of his boots and brushed the remaining flakes off of his jacket and hat. He noticed that a lot of his fellow newsies had knocked their boots and a melted puddle lay at his feet. Almost like she had sensed it too, Emily, the lodging house owner's daughter, came out with a bucket and mop. 

"Youah pops 'round?" Spot asked, not sure why he did.

"No," she answered simply, and didn't try to continue the conversation. Spot knew automatically that she was shy. Moving out of her way, he climbed the stairs to the bunkroom. A poker match was started in the corner and captivated the majority of the group, Frost and Outsider included. 

For the next half an hour, till around six o'clock, Spot watched the battle be narrowed down to just Outsider and Frost. Ultimately, Frost won and Outsider looked crushed, but quickly went over to his leader. The past loss already forgotten in the excitement of knowing how it all went. It wasn't often that the leaders met. 

"How'd it go?" He asked in a hushed tone as Frost reveled in her winnings and the group congratulated her and then dispersed. 

"Not'in happened," Spot frowned. "Saw Jackie boy an' went ta Queens, but Brink's maddah dan one o' da bulls when ya steal dere cap," he whistled under his breath. "'Is broad ran off an' he's in helluva mood," Spot pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his fine dark hair. 

"Did dey run ya outta Queens?" Outsider questioned.

"I'se just sayin' dat we'se didn' get da woimest welcome," the look on his face explained it all to his partner and Outsider knew better than to press the matter.

"How's Manhattan?" He switched topics. 

"Dem's fine," Spot nodded. "Gots some new blood in dere, some goils, some guys, all young," he mentally flashed through all of the faces. "Cowboy still ain't ovah dat dame," Spot stated and Outsider snorted in disgust. "Ol' Jackie boy's softah dan 'e should be," Spot conceded. "Dem Manhattan bunch is da best place foah beginners. Dem's all soft," Spot shook his head. "Mosta dem wouldn't last a week some wheah else," Outsider knew the truth of the comment. While the Manhattan group was similar to a family, the others were just out for blood. "Dis heah bunch give ya any trouble whiles I'se was gone?" Spot changed subjects.

"Nah," Outsider shook his head. "Just played some pokah," and so they launched into a more casual conversation about the game and what had happened since Spot had been gone. 

Over on the other side of the room, Frost watched them with detached interest. Now she was counting her winnings, and they were sizable. They made up what she had lost on the last game. Pocketing all of it, she moved stealthily towards Spot and Outsider, having a few words she wanted to get in before Spot was taken over by someone else. As she walked, she would stop every once in awhile and strike up an uninteresting conversation with someone, not really caring, but gathering information. Always gathering information. She arrived at her destination just as Outsider left on some other errand.

"Brink didn't see ya taday did 'e?" She spoke knowingly and Spot whirled around to find her. The surprise quickly placed by the all-knowing, superior air. 

"Whot ya talkin' 'bout?" Spot gave no sign of knowing what she was talking about.

"Oh, just call it a hunch. I'se just happen ta know dat when 'e's been hoyt, he don' like ta talk ta nobody," she chuckled slightly. "One time 'e got 'is pride hoyt by some whore on da street an' 'e moped 'roud foah a few days likes da sky 'ad falled on 'im," she informed Spot and he stood there taking this all in. "But I'se could be wrong," her voice one of pure dismissal. Already knowing that she was right, and knowing that Spot wanted to know more. "I'se been wrong afore," she started to walk away when she felt a hand on her arm, keeping her where she was. Inside she smiled outside she stiffened and produced a cold front that she had well developed. "Lemme go!" she demanded.

"Not till ya tell me wheah ya loyned all dat," he growled. 

"But me dinnah an' I'se just might be poysuaded ta tell ya," she bribed, smiling devilishly. 

"Lead da way," Spot let go of her arm and gave her a mock bow, and that was enough for Frost. Grabbing her coat, she and Spot progressed out of the door, much to the amusement of the group that had watched them go.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

It was strangely quite in the hall that led to his tenement apartment as Patrick walked along the corridor. Normally life could be heard bustling around inside of his lodging from out in the hall, but Patrick didn't hear any of that. Turning the handle he pushed open the door. On the floor lay the bodies of his brother and his sister, the red liquid had ceased to seep from their open chest wounds. The now crusting liquid lay staining the floor. 

The immediate effect of this didn't hit Patrick as he looked at them, the initial shock kept him from really feeling anything towards the event. Moving numbly into the shared bedroom he saw his mother's body lying in the pool of her own blood, much like his brother and sister's had been. Kneeling down next to his mother, he touched her face. It was cold to the touch. When had this happened? Who had done this to them? Was his father all right? Standing, he heard a noise and saw his father enter the room. Instead of looking at his wife, he saw his son and a black anger entered his turquoise eyes. 

"Ya lil' brat," he growled. "I'se goin' ta teach ya a lesson yous'll nevah forget," he promised menacingly as he walked over to him. 

He had spoken the truth when he said that Patrick would never forget the beating. Again and again, his father used all of his strength to pummel the tiny frame. Slamming him into walls, kicking him on the floor, beating his tiny body into a black, blue, and bloody heap. They were now out of the bedroom and in the main living area. His own blood mixing with his brother and sister's. 

****

. : ^_^ : .

The dinner was almost full, but somehow Spot and Frost found their way to a corner booth. Sitting opposite of her, Spot watched impatiently as she scanned over a menu. She was obvious relishing this moment. To make his point of impatience, he began drumming his fingers on the table, the gesture went ignored. 

"Whot's good ta eat in dis joint?" Frost asked obnoxiously.

"When ya starve in da street, mosta it's good," Spot answered bitterly, he hated having to wait.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," she made the clucking noise with her tongue. "Tempah, tempah, ya really should watch dat," she smiled sassily, the light from the street-lamp shining in her midnight eyes.

"Look yous, I don' need youah help oah youah infoahmation, but if yous goin' ta be stayin' wit' me newsies, ya gotta tell me whot I wanna know," All of the kindness and patience was gone from his voice.

"Funny," Frost puzzled. "I'se don' remembah heahin' dat rule," she was relieved from the conversation when the waitress came up.

"Whot can I gets foah yous?" She asked, smiling at Spot, he smiled back, they obviously knew each other. 

"Gimme whotevah e's havin'," Frost motioned towards Spot.

"An' give me whot I noymally get," he nodded, dismissing the still smiling girl. 

"She ya whore?" Frost asked blunted.

"Nah," Spot shook his head, removing his cap. "I ain't got one right now," he admitted. "Ain't none dat catched me eye."

"I'se hoyd dat yous quite da skoyt chasah," she smirked.

"I'se had my shah o' fun," he smiled at the memories. "But ya seemed ta have 'ad some fun youah self," he changed the subject back to her and she inwardly cringed. She had almost had him totally diverted. "How did ya know 'bout Brink?" 

"I'se got my ways," she answered flippantly.

"An' whot ah doe's?" He prodded.

"I'se been 'round, guess ya could say dat I'se see'd a lot," her cryptic words aggravated him.

"I'se buyin' ya dinnah, an' yous goin' ta tell me how yous know 'bout all dis," he said plainly.

"I gots money," she quipped. "An' if dis dinnah is a bribe, I'se just gonna ta be goin'," she started to stand, but Spot motioned her to stay down.

"Stay heah," he growled. 

"Whot's it ta you if I don't?" She dared.

"Ain't not'in ta me, but you ain't goin' ta be feelin' too good if ya do," his threat hung in the air and she didn't challenge it. When they were outside, he would get his. 

"Heah's youah food," The same waitress interrupted, placing two bowls of hot, thick soup in front of them and two large sandwiches. "Enjoy," she placed the bill on the table, smiled at Spot, and walked off. The dinner was spent in silence. 

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

The breath of his father smelled like that terrible stuff he drank that made him angry. Patrick could smell it when his father held him up so he could hit him. Finally, he dropped him on the ground, and went off in search of something. Patrick's face was bleeding, his body was bleeding, he hurt all over and even in the innocence of his young mind, he knew what his father was going to do. He was going to kill him.

Crumpled on the floor, Patrick opened his eyes and saw something shiny in the darkness of his blurred vision. It was a gun. Once, his father had taken it out and shown him how to use it. The man that was now so violently destroying everything that made up Patrick's tiny world, had told him to only use it when he had to. Never use this gun unless you are going to die, his father had instructed. 

Reaching out his tiny hand, he grasped the cold metal. The cool metal reminded him of the coins that pressed into his palm after he stole them. Scared, he heard his father stumble back into the dark room, his silhouette blocking the window. Cocking the gun, he took aim just as his father staggered forward. A deafening bang, he pulled back the hammer, and placed his finger on the trigger again, then pulled. Another loud roar made Patrick shudder, it was only then that he looked to see what his menace had done. 

The large man that he called his father had stopped in mid-step. Though he couldn't see his face, Patrick could imagine the uncomprehending face that would create his expression. Stumbling forward a few feet, his then staggered back, trying to keep his footing, but found it impossible. 

The gun then slipped from the small blood-slicked fingers, crashing to the floor. That wasn't the only thing that made a crash, the body of his father hit the ground with a sickening thud. The rattling breath let Patrick know that those tiny metal things had taken their toll. 

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//Her masks are many,

Her disguises multiple,

But it is the one underneath,

That holds to intrigue…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

Dinner was over and they were walking together in the cold night air. They would talk every once in awhile, but not often. Just as she said, Frost had paid for her own dinner and Spot didn't know what else to do. This girl was holding secrets that were driving him crazy. The only logical explanation for it was that she had sold in Queens, but why did she come here? It was true that Queens was hostile to female newsies, but she was a strange girl.

"Stop," He commanded and she froze. "Befoah we'se go any fahtah, yous goin' ta tell me whot I wants ta know," he spoke with the authority that he was used to having.

"I don't have ta tell you not'in," she started walking again.

"Yeah ya do," Spot grabbed her arm firmly, and pulled her back.

"Lemme go!" She repeated this scene from earlier.

"I ain't lettin' ya go till ya tell me whot I wanna know!" He spouted back. The street was surprisingly empty, but Spot was oblivious to this fact, all he wanted was answers.

"Lemme go dammit! Ya can't keep me here!" she pulled against him but found his grip unusually strong.

"No," He growled and she drew back her fist. Slamming it into the brunette's face, she watched his head snap back, but his grip only tightened. Again she punched him and again his grip tightened to the point of pain.

"Damn ya Spot Conlon," she spoke through clenched teeth. He appeared unfazed from the blows, though she knew that they had to have hurt, at least a little. 

"Just tell me whot I wanna know an' I'll let ya go," he spoke with a frightening calm. "Youah makin' dis hahdah dan it has ta be," he pointed out and her eyes flashed.

"Fine," she stepped closer to him instead of straining away from his touch. "Wes'll just try dis anoddah way," with that, she raised herself up slightly and pressed her mouth firmly to his. The pure shock of her gesture caused Spot to loosen his grasp on her thin arm, giving her just enough freedom to pull away. Jerking out of the embrace, she took off at a dead run, leaving Spot standing dumbfounded. 

"Whot da hell was dat?" he finally asked out loud as he watched her retreat into the darkness.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

Right then, something died inside of Patrick, he had killed someone and he knew it. The small boy knew that it was wrong, but he would have died otherwise. Pushing himself to his own feet, he moved into the area that was their kitchen. With his arm screaming in pain, he pumped some icy water into a bowl and splashed it on his face. Wetting a rag, he scrubbed at the blood that covered him, the blood that marked him as a killer.

Scared and a lone, he steeled back the tears and went to look at his brother and sister once more. Their faces were so peaceful, their suffering on this world was over, but his wasn't. If he could, he would have sacrificed his life just to hear them argue one more time. Not even looking at his father, he went into the bedroom and saw his mother there, illuminated in the lamp light. For once, he was able to see what she might have looked like when she was young. Nothing of the pain or worry marring her face, she was beautiful.

Moving to the one dresser in the room, he rummaged through, taking his things and all of the things that might have been of some value in his young eyes. Then going to his mother, he reached around her neck where she kept the house key. A simple little brass skeleton key that was unique for it's silver strip running up the long side of it. Her blood had stained the string, but Patrick tied it around his neck anyway.

Weak from the beating, scared for what he had just done, he tripped going out of the room, knocking the kerosene lamp off the table onto the wooden floor. Instantly, flames sprang up, feeding off the fuel from the broken lamp. Dumbly he watched them begin to eat away at the floor, creeping over the bed and devouring the bedcovers. Not knowing what else to do, Patrick ran.

He ran and ran as fast as his injured legs could carry him. Out into the snow he ran, and never looked back. Above him the heaven's wept for him, covering the boy with the multitudes of tears that froze on their way down. Weeping for the little boy who wasn't, crying for the years that they knew were to come. They all cried knowing that their little Patrick O'Connel had died that night, and that the scoundrel Spot Conlon was born. 

****

. : ^_^ : .

"'As Frost come in heah?" Spot called over the bunkroom, he wasn't done with that girl yet.

"No," Spitfire shook her head and looked around the room. The rest of the room agreed with her, none of them daring to ask the questions that blazed in their minds. What was their leader's interest in this new girl?

"Outsidah," Spot spoke his name and he was at his side quickly. "I'se goin' out ta look foah 'er, she's got some answahs ta some questions dat I wants ta know," he whispered, not wanting the rest of the room to hear. "If she comes back heah, don' let 'er leave," with that, he was out the door again. The momentary warmth of the lodging house forgotten as the bitter cold struck him again. Unsure of where to look, Spot went to the one place that he could think of, the Bridge.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

"Spectah," she heard the voice in the back of her head and it kept her running. _"Spectah, you knows dat yous'll nevah be able ta outruns me," _she could see his taunting smile. _"I'se goin' ta be da leadah, an' yous is goin' ta be my goil,"_ she shuddered at the thought. _"No I ain't Lice, an' you ain't goin' ta be no bodies leadah,"_ she protested. _"I could be a bettah leadah dan yous,"_ she remembered the words that she regretted. _"Bettah leadah dan yous," _the dangerous glimmer in his eyes told her that she had said that wrong thing. _"Bettah leadah dan yous,"_ she shook her head and kept running, her feet carrying her to the place where she had gone last night, the Bridge.

When she made it onto the bridge quite away, she leaned her back against the stone edging and breathed deeply. What had happened back there? It was all a blur. The dinner, the grip, the punches, the kiss, it all swirled together in a confused blur. Why had she kissed Spot? That was trouble for her, more trouble for her mainly because she had liked it.

__

Another leadah, she reminded herself. _Ya said yous weren't goin' ta go foah anoddah leadah,_ she frowned as she slid down the rough stone, curling her knees up to her chest as she rocked back and forth, shivering against the cold. That is how Spot found her as he walked up the bridge. 

"Ya goin' ta jump?" She turned her head to see Spot walking towards her. 

"Whot's it ta yous?" she grumbled, irritated that he had found her, but she couldn't think of anyone else she would want to be with.

"Just wonderin'," he stood in front of her now. "Cuz if yous goin' ta, dere ah a few questions dat I wanna ask yous afore ya go."

__

How can he be so insensitive? She wondered and glared up at him.

"Youah such a bastard," she said out loud and he took on a look of mock surprise.

"I'se a bastard?" He held out his hand to help her to her feet. "Den why did yous kiss me?" the smirk was in place and Frost pointedly ignored his outstretched appendage. 

"You knows why," she said stiffly, standing on her own. "I'se done it afore ta get away an' I'll do it again," she tensed as he stepped closer. 

"Yous'll do whot again?" his eyes met hers as they looked in her face. "Kiss me, oah get away?" he dared.

"Whot evah I wants ta do," she said proudly. 

"Well, when yous in Brooklyn ya do whot I want ya ta do," he put it frankly. "An' yous goin' ta tell me how ya knows Brink."

"'Ow else da ya t'ink I know 'im?" Frost sounded incredulous. "I sold wit' 'im," she met Spot's eyes with defiance. "Ya coulda just t'ought 'bout dat one a lil' an' figured it youah self," she smiled and Spot's eyes darkened. 

__

Dere is somet'ing she ain't tellin' me, Spot thought. _Dis goils got moah sides dan a dice,_ he continued his thoughts.

Together they stood, unsure of what else to do. Spot had gotten the answer, even though it left him with more, he didn't know where to start with his inquiry. The winds began to blow, bringing a change to the mood. Their bodies were close and the chemistry of their last kiss wasn't forgotten. Slowly, Spot lent over, and without the earlier false pretense, his mouth met hers. 

If nothing else could be said about the short Brooklyn leader, let it be known that he could kiss, and he used his ability. The gentle embrace deepened until Frost pulled back, somewhat startled.

__

Anoddah leadah, she lamented sadly. _Just anoddah leadah,_ his eyes met hers then looked up at the sky. Snow had begun to fall again, and the wind had died down. 

__

She ain't tellin' me 'er secrets now, Spot reasoned._ But she will soon_, he thought of all the questions he had. _Goils always tell, _ he speculated. Still looking at the sky he did something he hadn't done for a long time. He started counting the snowflakes as they fell softly towards the earth. 

__

Impossible, the word echoed in his mind, and he knew it to be true. Looking back down at Frost he saw that she was looking at him still, a glazed expression in her eyes.

"Ya doin' a'ight?" he asked, semi-worried. 

"Yea," she snapped back from whatever world she had been in. "I'se good," she gave him a token smile, and moved so she would be looking over the edge of the gargantuan bridge. Standing beside her, he let his finger's tangle with hers without any more words.

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Bettah leadah,

Impossible,

Spectah,

Murderer…

Different memories flashed through the minds as they stared into the blackness. How many times had they wanted to block the thoughts, those memories, and the things that they would do anything to forget? But much like counting the snow, forgetting things like that is only one thing.

Impossible.

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A/N: This is kind of a weird chapter. I don't know where this is all going, but I am figuring it out. Just you hold your horses and I promise that it will all add up… err… maybe.

Spot!Muse: What are you doing with me? What? I killed my dad? But I am a nice guy!

Raven: Well if you didn't kill him, you would be dead, and there wouldn't be a story anymore.

Spot!Muse: Why couldn't you have had the bastard shoot himself in the head or something?

Raven: Because, that wouldn't be as dramatic and you wouldn't have quite the same disturbed dark past. 

Spot!Muse: And what is with naming me Patrick? That is a stupid name.

Raven: Stop fighting with me, or I will have to send you to your corner!

Spot!Muse: You can't do that, I am the star of the story!

Raven: Well, I'll just send you to the refuge again!

Spot!Muse: Noooooo….

See what I have to deal with? Temperamental actors… - sigh - Oh well, I really would like some review on this chapter because I am kind of like, ehhh… in it's regards. Be brutally honest, I really like that in a review. Tell me everything you thought about it and make my life easier. ^_^ Thank you all so much! Take care.


	4. Inquisition

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story.

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A/N: This was an interesting chapter for me to write because I kept having to check myself to keep my people in character. It is so hard to do that sometimes. Spot is such a strong personality and so is Frost, it is almost impossible to get this to work right. - Growls - Also this story holds references to the series "**All in A Whisper**", which btw is another work in progress. It isn't important to read this story, but if you want to, it kind of gives what is happening in Manhattan while all of this is happening in Brooklyn. Mind you, that I am mainly working on "**Frostbitten**," and "**Blind Spot**," right now. So updates on that story will be few and far between. 

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG-13 for adult situations, and language.

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Chapter 3: Inquisition

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//I can't forget…

I can't force…

I can't flee…

These feelings I have …//

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"I'se not int'rested in talkin' ta ya," Frost groaned as Spot approached her selling Spot. The weather was more miserable that it had been before. The snow had gone, but the wind had come. A cold biting wind that ripped through the light coat she wore and chilled her to the bone.

"I don't remembah dat bein' an option," Spot said coldly. 

"I'se sellin' my papes, I don' have da time ta talk," She excused herself, turning her back to him. "Gimme some o' youah papes," Spot demanded.

"Whot?" She was shocked at his audacious command. "Dese ah my papes, I paid foah dems," She stood to her full height and met his eyes. "An' you ain't takin' dem," She growled.

"Is'll sell dem fastah dan yous," He challenged. "Gimme half ya papes, an I bet ya Is'll sell dem fastah dan yous."

"You sell heah an' I gets youah spot," She bargained. "If ya sell out foist, ya can keep da money ya make," she started counting off the papers before he agreed and Spot entertained a slight smile. 

"An' if I wins, I gets anoddah kiss," he smirked, and her eyes shot to his, then quickly ducked back down to counting the papers. 

__

So she stills sensitive ta it, he marked. 

"Fine, take dese papes," She shoved them into his chest and stuck out her hand. "Shake on it," she demanded and he shook her hand firmly and then she was off.

__

Wes'll just havta see who's da best pape sellah, Spot reasoned. _I gots 'er beat a'eady,_ he smirked and began to call out the headline.

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"Yous cheated," Frost accused as the pair walked the moderately busy streets of Brooklyn.

"How can ya cheat at sellin' papes?" Spot posed the question, sidestepping a child as it ran through the street.

"I dunno, yous da one dat did it," She grumbled as they walked down the sludge lined streets.

"Ya pro'ly hid da papes some wheah's, it ain't like yous need da money," she continued to babble, walking slightly faster than Spot.

"Yous just sore cause ya lost," Spot smirked.

"Is'll stop losin' when yous stop cheatin'," she growled.

"Ya know dat yous wanted me ta win," he didn't listen to her complaining. "Aftah all, now I gets a kiss," his voice held the mockery that she had come to hate. Was that all she was to him, a prize?

"I nevah agreed ta no kiss," Frost shook her head firmly, still walking in front of Spot.

"Ya shook on it!" Spot reminded raising his voice slightly as she continued to moved forward more.

"No, I shook on da oder stuff, not da kiss," She pointed out, and refused to walk beside him. If she had, she would have seen the sparkling merriment in his eyes reflected by the late afternoon light. "Yous a'eady keepin' my money, ain't dat 'nuff?" she sounded exasperated. 

"Ya knows dat kissin' me ain't dat bad," he kept up the subject.

"Look, I ain't kissin' yous," she said frankly, continuing to move down the streets, walking a little bit ahead of him. 

"So yous ain't goin' ta keep youah side o' da deal?" He tried to appeal to her sense of fairness. 

"I kept me side," she walked faster still. "An' I ain't goin' ta kiss ya."

"Ya 'fraid yous'll like it?" Spot teased and made no attempt to catch her, there was always later. She didn't respond, she was a good twenty feet ahead, lost to him in the sea of people, and turned a corner to go a different route than normal. Somehow, this bothered Spot. No female had the right to do this to him, he was the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, he had won that kiss fair and square, and he was going to get it. How could he do that without seeming too eager? It was true that he had enjoyed kissing here the other night, hell, he had more than enjoyed it. 

Walking towards the place where she had disappeared from view, Spot mentally mulled over the way he would get the kiss, the sound of muffled voices and rustling clothing brought him to his senses. Speeding up slightly, he made it to the alleyway where Frost had turned and looked down the passageway. About twenty feet away, three larger shadows were obviously facing off with one smaller one. The clarity of the situation took a few moments to strike Spot, but when it did, it did so with startling severity. 

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Shit, he thought, reaching for his slingshot._ Dat's Frost,_ he already had a shooter in the middle of the worn rubber and was aiming carefully. The three that surrounded her, taking various strikes were none other than the Pullvine brothers. Frost was doing her best to hold her own, striking out against them, but they had the advantage. Three grown boys, against one small girl, were no competition.

Launching the marble, he didn't try to hit as much for pain as for distraction. Distraction was attained as he repeatedly fired into the group. The two larger of the group, Chester and Caleb who had their backs to Spot previously, turned to see who pelted them with so mercilessly. Now standing only about ten feet away, Spot saw the anger flash into their eyes, even in the dim light, and knew that he had better run. For as proud and stubborn as he was, he wasn't stupid. The whole point of this had been to distract the brutes long enough to let Frost get away and he taunted them further by backing away slightly.

The two who had been so interested in the now bleeding girl were too enraged with the pestilence to let Spot go unpunished, so they started after them. Charlie, the smallest of the brothers grabbed Frost, going unnoticed by Spot. Turning, Spot began to sprint, convinced that Frost had gotten away, and convinced that it was no he that was in danger. Fast and agile as Chester and Caleb were slow and stupid worked as an advantage for Spot and soon he had put enough distance and human obstacles between himself and his pursuers that he was able to assess the situation. Cane in hand, he began to analyze.

Only two of the Pullvines had followed him that meant that one of them was somewhere else. A glance behind at the lumbering figures told him that Charlie was the one of the trio that was missing. Though not as large as his brothers, Charlie could have easily overpowered Frost and Spot began stringing together curses under his breath and made a sharp turn, almost running into a woman and child behind him.

Looping out, forming an arc through the people, he dodged the brothers who were too slow to make moves to stop the spry little street rat. What alleyway had it been? The change of direction and the movement of the people had confused him. Spot's breath was coming in deep pants as he strove to pull oxygen into his starved lungs to feed his burning muscles. Striving towards his goal, he made it back to the alley where he thought he had found them. Ducking inside, he started searching for some sort of sign of Frost. 

The coming darkness made the footprints pressed in the snow and sludge more confusing Spot as he searched for some sign of where Frost might have gone. The groups of prints were everywhere, jumbled together in a confusing mess. His heart pounding in his chest as he gulped down air echoed along with the pounding of approaching feet. Looking for a place to hide, Spot started down the alleyway, not having any idea on how to track the missing girl. 

Exhausted, he searched for a place that he could catch his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, Spot saw a small branch off of the larger alley into a less used area where a door was ajar. Darting inside, Spot shut the barrier behind him, Searching for some sort of lock before collapsing against the wood, he collected his thoughts and gained his breath.

Where could that girl be? If Charlie had gotten her, she was somewhere alone with him now most likely, and Charlie was having his wicked way with her. The very thought sent a shiver down Spot's spine. If that was so, Spot's mission had failed and it was his entire fault. If he hadn't teased her, she wouldn't have walked ahead, and if she hadn't walked ahead, she might not have been put in this situation. 

Self-accusations flew through his mind, all he could think about were his failures in this situation. Pounding the back of his head against the door, he heard some noise coming from somewhere inside this dark building. The thought that he might have just walked into an occupied or hostile building hadn't even occurred to him until that moment. The darkness around him was suddenly his best friend as it shielded him from detection. 

Calming his labored breathing, Spot listened. Again the sound came it was muffled but distinct. There was more than one person in here, and it sounded almost like two people fighting. The idea intrigued Spot and he pushed away from his place at the door and edged forward in the blackness. A few times he stumbled as he tried to find another opening, a way to get to the noises that were becoming louder and louder as time progressed. Finally, by pure chance, he found a knob and slowly opened the door. The muffled noises became clearer and the strange sounds became sounds of struggling. 

"Hold still ya bitch," Spot heard someone growl and heard the sounds of cloth being torn. "I said hold still!" The voice grew louder as Spot approached a doorframe with the faint glow of lamplight flickering around the edges. A loud thud, the sound of someone being struck, was heard and the struggling noises faded almost instantly. Biting his lip, Spot thought quickly. Something bad was obviously happening behind that door, but if he waited much longer, all hopes of finding Frost would be gone. 

As he turned to go his heart stopped as he heard the other voice. "Damn ya bastard!" It was weak, it was tremulous, but it was Frost's voice. 

__

Damn, Spot was at the door in an instant, tearing it open to find Charlie towering over Frost. There was blood on both of their clothes and the evidence of fighting was seen in the surroundings. Frost's coat was on the ground, her shirt was torn down the front and she was doing her best to keep it modestly covering. Black anger pumped in Spot's veins and he used the element of surprise to launch himself at Charlie and tackle him to the ground. 

It wasn't before Spot had two good punches delivered to Charlie's face that the boy had processed what had happened and was fighting back. Soon it was Spot who was numbly attempting to block the blows that Charlie was dealing. This is when he remembered why he hated fighting on the ground. There was little chance for maneuvering and it was practically a pure battle of strength, a battle of strength in which he clearly had the downside of the bargain. 

A few minutes into the fight, Spot was blindly striking out, trying to get that one lucky blow that would give him enough time to get to his feet. The lucky blow came with a flash of gold from above them as Spot was pummeled by Charlie's fist. A satisfactory crack was heard and Charlie froze for a few seconds as if trying to comprehend what was happening when another thwack was heard. This one was louder and more distinct sound of something very hard hitting something else very hard. Scrambling out from underneath Charlie, Spot stood to see Frost standing with his cane delivering another blow to the Pullvine brother's head. 

Signaling her to stop, Spot raised his foot and soundly kicked Charlie's face, causing the boy to topple over onto the floor, unconscious. For a long time, the only sound was the duo's hard breathing and annoying tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. After a time, Spot looked at Frost and she looked back at him, handing him his cane. Her lips were swollen, her knuckles were cracked and bleeding, and the dark bruises bubbling up under her face marred the once even complexion of her skin. The lovely hair was loose from it's braid and tangled from being grabbed and matted with blood. 

Spot was a little worse for wear himself. His coat was torn, and his hat was lying on the ground where he had tackled the larger boy. Rings were developing around each of his eyes, and when he spat on the floor, his spit mixed with blood. Broken and bloody, the pair stared at each other.

"We'se bettah get back ta da lodgin' house," Spot said and noted the way that Frost clung her coat to her body, and Spot wondered if her shirt was beyond repair. 

"Yeah," she muttered through bruised lips, and the duo shuffled towards the door, and as for Spot, the kiss was the last thing on his mind.

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//I wish I didn't feel,

The things that I do,

It makes things complicated,

And complications are trouble…//

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Three days past before Frost's lips returned too normal, but she went the distribution office anyway, picking ups her papers and lisping out the headlines. She maintained her normal façade, but Spot knew there was something different. Behind those dark eyes reflected the pain of the days past. The girl had almost been raped, but she said nothing of it, in fact, she acted as though it never happened. 

Speaking was painful for her with her swollen lips, so Spot didn't press the matter, but felt that she was burying everything deep inside of her like he had done so many times. If something like that happened, you forgot about it, or at least tried to. Trying was usually all that came from that.

His late night walks had been spent alone he was strangely saddened by this. Then he would reprimand himself, taking out a cigarette and try to smoke away his problems. The bridge was cold and lonely and the frigid weather did little to ease the ache of his beaten body. The circles of bruises around his eyes had become darker as the days past. Lack of sleep had aided the dark rings, but he had lost track of the nights he had stayed up till dawn. If he weren't careful, he'd get sick at this rate. 

The thought of being sick brought a hacking cough through his lean body, smoke exhaling from his young lungs. Taking a deep rasping breath, he threw the cigarette over the side of the bridge, the cold air, late nights, and yelling of the headlines was causing him to lose his voice entirely. Smoking might have been added to the equation, but the thought didn't even enter Spot's mind as he walked back towards the lodging house. 

The urge to jump hadn't been as pressing in the last few weeks. It was still there, but it wasn't a constant overwhelming want like it had been. Sighing deeply, he felt the cold cut in through the new holes in his coat, damn those Pullvine brothers. Frowning, he thought back to that evening. How close had the Charlie been to his goal?

It was all a blur, but if he had been a few minutes longer, there might not have been any innocence to save. Who said that he had to be the savior of this girl anyway? It wasn't his fault that she was stubborn to a fault, mean as hell, cold as ice, and closed as a bank on Sunday. It wasn't his fault that he had enjoyed the faithless kisses, the teasing, the snubs, and the jibes. 

Spot was addicted to pain and he knew it. Just like he had to have his nicotine fix, he had to be hurt somehow. The idea was unreasonable, sick, and pervert, but he was a lost cause, and she was too. Those months in the refuge had hardened him, killing all of the softness inside of him. He had to hone in on his anger and animal instincts to survive those months with minimal human contact. A boy with less control would have killed himself or have gone insane long before the release date. In a way, Spot had been insane.

The strange fascination with death, and the self-masochism he had practiced in the dark cell had seeped into his free life as well. How many times had he seen the scars on his abdomen and arms? Some were from scabs that he had picked off several times, never letting the wound heal, others were from the sharp stones he had dragged across himself in the long boring hours alone.

Bitterness and hate had been the only things that he had felt in that cell, besides hunger. The little food he had gotten was wormy and sometimes had maggots crawling over it. Closing his eyes, he could still remember the feeling of the tiny parasites crawling in his mouth, but he had choked down the food, too hungry to care. Maybe he was the only one in that whole section of the Refuge and they probably forgot about him at times. 

At night, he would lay on the cot and stare into the night. Sometimes, it would feel like his eyes were bleeding as he forced them to stay open as long as possible. Whenever he closed his eyes he could see all of the things he wanted to forget, he could feel all of the pain that he wanted to block. He would see his capture again and again. Every night he would relive the feelings of fear and outrage that came with ones freedom being revoked. Every night he would imagine a thousand different ways he could have been a little faster, a little smarter, a little better, a little anything that would make it so he would have escaped.

Now on the outside, he no longer dreamed about those things. Now he dreamed about what had happened in the Refuge, all of the pain and anger inside of those walls. The tears that went unshed as he forced himself to be steeled against all emotions. Anger had been the only thing that held him to his sanity and to his hope of release, but the anger that had kept him alive in the Refuge was slowly killing him now in the free world. 

Pushing open the door to the Lodging House, he silently ascended the stairs and went into the bunkroom. Treading on soundless feet, he avoided each creaking board and squeaking plank, having long ago learned their various places. Eyes already adjusted to the dark, he scanned the bunks to find everyone in their place except for one, and Frost's bunk was empty. Scratching his head, he put his cane down by the bunk where he had claimed his residence, and thought. Where could she have gone?

The Brooklyn Lodging House had only one place that one could escape, and that was the second story roof. Getting there was the problem, ever since the fire escape had literally rusted till it fell apart, getting up there was a challenge unless you had the key. A single hatch at the top of a ladder down the hall was the only way to the roof now. Or a direct access from the Owner's quarters. 

If she wasn't there, she could be anywhere, but why did Spot care? He just did, and no one else needed to know, but caring meant trouble and Spot didn't like it. Stripping off his outerwear, Spot climbed into bed. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, he finally gave up. There was no way that he was going to rest easily without knowing for sure that Frost wasn't on the roof, because if she was, he wanted to know how she had gotten the key.

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Two weeks had passed since the fire and little Patrick was sitting in an old crate he had found and claimed as home. The snow had seeped into his shoes and his feet were frozen, the coat that had kept him warm before was now worth less than the shirt on his back. Rarely he would sneak into kitchens of diners and steal food right from under their noses. It was there that he found warmth. At least his tiny size was good for something.

He hadn't returned to the factory the next day, he had slept the whole day inside an empty cabinet that he had discovered in a diner. No one found him till the next morning when Spot crawled out and stole some breakfast. In his mind, it was still just one big game. How much could he get away with? How fast could he run and steal something? How much money could he steal? It never occurred to him that he could spend the money that he stole. He thought that the money was simply the prize for winning the game.

Luck had been bad lately though. The usual places where he had stolen food had come to discover this little thief and were much more careful whenever they opened the door to fetch something outside or take out the trash. It was near impossible to find anything to eat anywhere, and his growing bounty of stolen money was getting heavy in his pockets. 

All over, his body still hurt from all of the blows his father had delivered. The coat he wore was still stained with blood, everything he wore was what he had worn that night. The few article of clothing that he had brought with him were in his crate, safe and hidden, but there had never been a time to change. Already frozen, he couldn't make sense of taking off his semi-warm clothes for freezing garments that he probably wouldn't have enough heat to warm them. 

It wasn't until he tried to pick the pocket of the wrong boy that his luck changed. 

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"Whot ah yous doin' up heah?" Spot asked as he climbed onto the roof. The hatch had been unlocked and he had stumbled up onto the hard surface of the two storied building.

"Leave me alone," Frost growled, her back turned to him as she sat curled into a ball in the very center of the roof.

"Nah, I'se havin' some trouble sleepin' so I'se t'ink Is'll just stay up heah foah awhile," Spot yanked at his threadbare coat, walking towards the girl.

"I ain't goin' ta talk ta yous," She said bluntly.

"Nevah asked ya to," Spot quipped, and she was silent as he took his seat next to her.

The small wall around the edge of the roof kept the wind from touching them as they sat. It was still bitterly cold, but the lacking biting wind made it endurable. It didn't take long for Spot to find out that she was serious about not talking to him. Aimlessly, he twiddled his thumbs, trying to think of some way to start a conversation without looking like he was starting the conversation.

"Yous okay?" He started lamely.

"Yeah," Frost nipped it in the bud, and Spot looked at her stony profile. 

The girl wasn't any better looking from the side. The clarity of her broken nose showed in a much finer light as the silver glow of the moon outlined it against the black backdrop of some Brooklyn building's wall. Her heart shaped mouth was set in a thin line as though she was in deep thought. Her tiny frame curled into it self with her knees pressed to her chest and her arms holding them secure. The strangely dark eyes held no spark, no fire, and no distinguishable emotion as they stared into nothing. Frost was definitely frosty that night. 

"About da oder night…" He started and she turned sharply to look at him.

"I'se fine," She hissed. "An' I don' wanna talk 'bout it," she turned back away, her long braid whipping along with the turn of her head. Spot had hit a nerve, and he knew it.

"I ain't askin' ya ta talk 'bout it, a'ight?" Spot's voice went defensive. "I'se heah ta tell ya dat if yous wanna get back at da Pullvines, I gots a way," He offered.

"I don' cahah," she answered blandly.

"Whot do ya mean ya don' cahah?" Spot's eyebrows shot skywards.

"I - don' - cahah," Frost repeated very slowly and deliberately, looking him in the eyes. "Ya shoulda left me dere," She continued and Spot did nothing to stop her. "I ain't got not'in ta live foah," She said bitterly, looking up at the sky.

"Whot do ya mean?" Spot pressed.

"Ya knows who I means just as well as I'se do," Frost closed her eyes as she kept her head tilted back. "Ya ain't got not'in ta live foah just like me," She lowered her head back down and opened her eyes. "None a da newsies got anyt'ing ta live foah," she sounded rather saddened by this fact. "I'se only met one newsie dat evah t'ought differ'nt," she looked back at Spot and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Yous knows 'im too," She watched his expressions carefully. "Most people calls 'im Cowboy," She looked away and stood up, not waiting for his reaction.

"Jackie-boy?" Spot struggled to his feet.

"Yous hoyd o' 'im too?" her voice dripped sarcasm as she moved towards the hatch. "I t'ought I'se were da only one."

"Wait," Spot scrambled after her, blocking the hatch. "We'se need ta talk," He stated frankly.

"We'se can talk latah," she shoved past him. "I'se gotta sleep," she opened the hatch with no resistance from Spot. 

"Ansah me one t'ing," Spot said as she descended and as he waited for his turn.

"Whot?" she asked.

"'Ow did ya get up heah on da roof?" He lowered his voice as too started down the ladder into the quiet Lodging House.

"I picked da lock," she answered smugly and sauntered into the bunkroom with Spot close behind.

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Yous a cool one Frost, Spot thought as watched her get read for bed. _But goils always tell,_ he smirked as he climbed onto the top bunk, careful not to disrupt his bunkmate, Outsider. Closing his eyes, he sighed deeply, content with that bit of knowledge. _Goils always tell,_ he thought again as he slid into a deep and dreamless sleep.

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//It's so strange,

To look back now,

On things that reflect so dim,

Like shadows on a wall…//

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A tall boy felt the pressure of another's hand in his right pocket and his hand flew to the place, catching the offender before they could escape. Whirling around, he found himself looking into the wild eyes of a little boy no older than eight. He could have been older, but his slight frame denied it. The little wretch was filthy, his clothes tattered, his face smeared, but it was the look in his eyes that moved the older boy. 

Those strange turquoise eyes that seemed to be swirled with smoke were purely instinctive. The obvious fear was quite clear in the widening of the already large, wide set eyes. The pure primal expression of instinct overwhelmed the taller boy almost to the point of amusement. He at one point surely had that same look.

"Whot ah you doin' boy?" The older one demanded.

"Playin' a game," The small one responded. "But I'se just lost," he clarified. "Cause ya caught me."

"An' whot game would dat be?" The older asked, not taking his hand off of the small boy's wrist.

"Da one wheah I'se takin' t'ings outta people's pockets," the complete honesty with an odd twist tickled the older boy.

"Ya got a name, boy?" he asked.

"Patrick," he offered and the older frowned. 

"Dat won' do," he shook his head.

"Me ol' friends at da fact'ry used ta call me Spot," he proposed, unsure of the reasoning behind the boy's questions. 

"Dat's bettah," the elder's eyes narrowed. "Why did dey call ya Spot?"

"Cause I'se no biggah dan a spot," he admitted shamelessly. 

"How olds yous?" 

"Seven," Spot tugged at his arm. "Whot's youah name?"

"Dey call me Pike," the older introduced himself. "An' I'se a newsie."

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"Police chief found wit' mayor's daughtah!" Spot cried out above the noise of the crowds. "Family scandalized!" He mentally noted that mainly females bought when he cried headlines like these, men normally bought if he fabricated something about the business world. As soon as all of his transactions were complete, he melted into the crowd, not wanting the group of girls to find that his headline had been slightly enhanced.

It was near two o'clock and Spot was starving. He had enough money for lunch, but he didn't want to stop until he had sold his last ten papers. Chuckling to himself, he remembered how some businessman had offered to buy his cane today. It had happened before, but it had been awhile, and the state of his cane was quite lacking. The sludge and snow had dirtied it, and some of Charlie Pullvine's blood still stained it. 

At the thought of the Pullvine brothers, his mind went to Frost. Everyday, he had been going to her after he was done selling, but he never let her know he was there. Secretly, he would follow her, knowing that if he knew the Pullvine brothers at all, they would want revenge on the girl. They already had it out for Spot.

"Boy, Is'll buy a papah," a soft, lusty alto came from behind him.

"Dat'll a penny," Spot instructed, as he turned to see what looked like a streetwalker. The girl didn't have a coat on, and her dress was revealing, the only thing that covered her bare shoulders was a ratty lace shawl. She was shivering almost uncontrollably. The girl held out the coin and Spot handed her the paper. 

There was nothing he could do for her. He was barely warm enough himself, and it was her fault that she had picked such a disreputable profession. Why wasn't she in a bar? That was where most of the harlots stayed during the day, working as maids, but maybe this girl wasn't as fortunate. Shivering, he pulled his own coat closer.

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Nine moah papes, he reminded himself. _Just nine moah papes,_ he repeated mentally and began to call out some headline.

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Lemme go, Lice, The words played over in her head. _I ain't goin' ta be youah goil!_ Her own exclamation seemed so futile as she heard it in her own mind now. _I nevah asked ya if yous would be,_ she could still remember the terrible sneer that had come to his mouth. _I'se makin' you,_ the statement had brought a scream to her mouth, but he quickly silenced her.

The scenes of her past played in Frost's head as she walked back to the Lodging House after her day of selling. Shivering both from the cold and from the loathing of the memory, she looked around the streets. Ever since that run in with Charlie, Frost had been careful to take the main streets back to the Lodging House, no exceptions. She was a tough girl, but she wasn't stupid, and she walked among the people, all of them going different places.

Three days had passed since the rooftop encounter with Spot, it had been almost a week since the run in with the Pullvines. The swelling on her face was almost completely gone and the bruises were starting to fade ever so slightly. Ever since she had talked to Spot that night on the roof, he hadn't been as open with her. She could sense the distance whenever she talked to him, but didn't point it out.

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Good, She thought. _I don't need him, I don't want him_! She coached herself. _I ain't goin' ta have anoddah leadah, an' I ain't goin' ta let 'em in,_ She tried to convince herself. On and on the verbal list of all the reasons it was better that Spot was leaving her alone went. Too many broken hearts along the way had taught Frost that it was best not to care and not to have anyone care, but she couldn't deny the pull towards Spot. _Why is it always a leadah?_ She lamented, and pushed open the door of the Lodging House. It was time for another performance.

****

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"Whot's a newsie?" Spot asked Pike as they walked down the busy street together.

"Whot's a newsie?" Pike exclaimed. "Whot's a newsie?" his voice held extreme disbelief. "A newsies da one dat sell da papes on da street! We'se carryin' da bannah foah all yous ta read!" He sobered suddenly. "Ya can read can't ya boy?" 

"I'se can read some," he answered proudly, not many boys his age and status could claim that. "Me sistah taught me," He smiled broadly.

"Yous got a sistah?" Pike's eyebrows raised in interest.

"Not no more," Spot looked down at his feet.

"I'se see," Pike knew what that meant, just another orphan on the streets of New York. "I likes ya boy," Pike quickly changed the subject, he was a jovial sort and didn't like the mood to be down too long. "I'se goin' ta make yous me own sellin' pahtnah," he said this like it held great importance.

"Is dat good," Spot asked warily.

"Is dat good?" Pike echoed laughingly. "Is dat good!" He repeated and Spot quickly picked up that this was a habit of Pike's to repeat things as such. "O' course it's good," he slapped Spot on the back. "You boy ah 'bout ta be trained by da best!"

****

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"Wheah's Pips?" Spot called into the busy bunkroom. 

"Right heah suah!" The small boy ran up to the front of the room, in front of Spot. 

"Whot's da news from Queens?" Spot asked, lowering his tone.

"Dere's been some grumblin' 'bout Brink," Pips informed. "Since Brink's dame left 'im, 'e ain't been da same," The news continued. "'E ain't da same kinda leadah since she's been gone, an' da boys ah talkin' 'bout getting' someone new," Pips paused for a breath.

"A powah struggle?" Spot thought out loud.

"Yes suah," Pips nodded vigorously. "Not'in's happened yet, but ya nevah know wit' Queens. Not'in might evah happen," he shrugged and Spot waved him off. Instantly the 'Spot's lil' boydy' had flown away back to whatever it had been doing before.

"Flash, get ovah heah!" Spot called and the quick boy hurried over. It was clear why his name was flash, the boy was quick as lightning with a shock of bright red hair that stood on all ends if not under his cap.

"Yes suah?" He responded much like Pips.

"Tell me 'bout Manhattan," Spot prompted, not really paying attention, but listening absently. 

"Dere's a goil dere now," Flash spoke confidently. "Dey calls 'er Whispah, she don't talk _evah_," he stressed the fact. "Specs took a beatin' an' didn't get outta bed foah a week," He continued his report. "But dis Whispah goil took cahah o' 'im an' he's bettah now," Flash took a deep breath. "Jack says dat de DeLancey bruddahs 'ave been actin' strange, but dats noymal," he ended his report with a deep sigh, looking pleased with himself for remembering everything so efficiently. 

"Fine," Spot waved him off, not caring to hear any more news from anywhere else. 

Something in the back of his mind was tugging at him from the Queens report. Frost had been in Queens, a fairly closed community, and had obviously been close to Brink. Looking around the room, he spotted her across the room in an overly friendly conversation with one of his boys, Ghost. This irritated Spot and her stormed over to her and grabbed her arm forcefully. 

"We'se gotta talk," he looked at Ghost. "Now," he excused Frost from whatever conversation she had been engaged in with one look, then yanked on her arm.

"Whot da hell was dat?" She fumed. "You ain't got no right ta do dat to me!" She pulled her arm out of his grasp. "Whot is it dat can't wait?" she planted her feet firmly in the middle of the bunkroom for all of the newsies to observe. 

"I'se not tellin' heah, come wit' me," Spot growled menacingly and Frost knew better than to fight him. She remembered the first night she had come here and the harsh words of him being her superior. Following, but not weakly, she glared at his back, proclaiming to all of those around her that she might obey but in no way did she submit. "We'se goin' ta dinnah," Spot told her as they walked out in the hall. 

"But I ain't got my coat," she objected as he yanked her down the stairs.

"It don' mattah, it ain't fah away an' youah coat's got so many holes it ain't no good," Spot pointed out tactlessly and Frost shut her mouth. It was true that her coat did little good to fend off the cold, but she wasn't going to admit it.

The trek to the diner wasn't long, but they were both shivering violently by the time they made it inside. It wasn't the same place they had come before, but Spot seemed to be equally friendly with the staff of this establishment. When a giggling, blushing girl seated them, Frost cast Spot a questioning glance. When the girl had left Frost raised one eyebrow and asked Spot about her.

"She's a sweet goil," was all Spot would say, and the small talk progressed until their food arrived. Frost puzzled at Spot's odd behavior. He had torn her away from a conversation and dragged her out into the bitter cold saying that there was something he had to urgently speak with her about. When they arrived at a place where they could talk 'safely', he seemed to completely forget that there was anything important about which to speak. Exasperated beyond all reason, she put up her defense.

"A'ight Conlon, if yous just wanna talk we coulda done dat at da lodgin' house," she complained. "But I'se had ta freeze my ass off ta come heah ta pay foah me own dinnah ta talk ta ya 'bout not'in," she slammed her fist on the table, jarring their plates and drawing attention. "Dere sure as hell had bettah be a reason foah dis," she threatened under her breath.

"Dere is," he answered calmly.

"Whot is it?" She asked, and Spot knew he had her where he wanted her.

"Not'in, yous won't ansah me anyways," he shrugged and bit into the sandwich that was in front of him.

"Who said I'se ain't goin' ta ansah?" Frost sounded incredulous. "Since when did yous get ta tell me whot I'se t'inkin'?" She tapped her fingers on the table as he methodically over-chewed the bite and swallowed with much show.

"I just knows," he answered simply and took another bite.

"If yous just knows, how come yous had ta bring me heah ta tell me dat?" She accused.

"I wanted ta eat," he told her frankly. "Ya didn' have ta ohdah not'in."

"Fine," Frost slammed her hands palm flat on the table. "I'se seein' how dis is," she wagged a finger at him. "Yous ain't goin' ta ask me da question till I tell ya dat I'se goin' ta ansah," She smiled slightly and Spot nodded. "Fine," she took a bite of her sandwich. "Is'll ansah one question," She chewed as she spoke.

"Any question?" Spot tested and she nodded.

The possibilities of all the questions he could ask her were endless. How did she have connections to Queens? How did she have connections to Manhattan? Did she have any other connections around the New York area? How many places had she sold? She had given him just enough information about herself to make the all of the options overwhelming. Staring at her with the custom all knowing look in place, Spot came up with the question he wanted to ask.

"Tells me," he paused, thinking how to word the question. "Will yous tell me 'bout youah entire time heah in New Yawk?" He asked, finding it harder to voice it in a question than in a command.

Nothing would have prepared Spot for the reaction he was about to receive. First, her face went completely slack, the something resembling anger crossed her features, then something that looked like complete fear. She had been trapped in her own game and she knew it. In one smooth action, she wiped all feeling from her face and looked him dead in the eye. 

"I said Is'll ansah yous question," she started coolly. "An' I will," she promised. "I just nevah said when."

****

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It was the first time Spot had ever seen the lodging house. Going inside, he saw an assortment of boys sitting around, all ages and sizes, doing whatever they could with their free time. The first sensation he remembered feeling was the warmth flooding his long numb limbs. The way he saw this place for the first time would be much different from the one he would live in later. New ownership would change that , but for now it was a warm inviting place where boys like him were gathered. 

"whose da kid, boss?" A spry young boy called from over a game of cards.

"Lis'en up all yous," Pike called out for attention. "I'se goin' ta ansah dat question, an I'se only ansah it once," he looked around and every eye was on him. Spot stood petrified in awe, this boy was powerful. "Dis heah is Spot," Pike put a hand on Spot's shoulder, claiming him. "Spot Conlon," It was the first time the name was used to label him, and Spot wasn't sure what the Conlon meant, but later he would find just how much power that name could hold.

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A/N: Many apologies for the delay of chapter, but fanfiction.net hasn't been letting me access the sight for the past few days. -growls- But I am back with vengeance and a new chapter! Woo hoo! I really would like some reviews on this, be cruel, pick me apart, PLEASE! I want to know where I can improve, and what needs to be fixed. Please, it is all I ask of you! Take care everyone, and I hope you enjoyed this installment. 

Skittles: I left you on a cliffhanger, eh? Then I have done my job! Thanks for the review and I am glad you liked the story so far. Maybe you still like me…?

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Ali: I'm glad that you like my story! That is one of the best compliments an author can get. The only better kind is an objectively critical review telling me how I can improve… but oh well. I can only dream about those. I liked the part about counting snow too… it made it all connect somehow. This chapter isn't nearly as good, but who knows? Somebody just might like it better than anything else I have ever written! Thanks for the reviews take care!

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Kaylee: Well I think you are going to have to wait a little longer to see where this goes. Hehe, I am mean like that. I love to make my readers hang. Muhahahaha! Oh well, I will try to be a little more faithful with my updates, but for some reason, FanFiction.net has been having some problems with my computer and such. It wasn't letting me log on or anything. Phooey! Take care dear! 

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	5. Attained Confessional

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story.

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A/N: Some of you might have taken note that in my previous chapters, there have been various little snippets of things that are similar to poems or incomplete thoughts. The writing below the chapter title is a fine example, the little bit about the vision and burning and such. Every one of those bits is parts of a poem I wrote in grade school. So it is mine, DON'T TAKE IT YOU MEANY WEANY! Not that you would want to take it… so with that out, I shall continue this chapter without further ado.

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Warning: PG-13 (as always) for heavier language (How can language have a weight?) no real bad words, I just think I used a lot of them in this chapter and, stuff about suicide and all of that other good stuff. If you don't think you can handle this, go read something else. As for my more 'mature audiences' read on, by all means, read on, and don't forget to review!

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Chapter 4: Attained Confessional

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//I have a vision of you

It's burned upon my mind

You're dancing in the shadows

You're silhouettes defined…//

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If you walked down the streets of Brooklyn on this particularly cold February day, you would be seeing some of the following. A strange sight to your eyes no doubt, a girl dressed as though she were a boy. Her long hair tied back and covered with a cap, the coat she wares does little more than provide for her shabby appearance. Your own skirts are getting dirtied in the sludge and muck that is laying about the streets, terrible weather you've been having, but it is still late February. You are offended by the girl's outlandish attempts to fit into a man's world. 

Shielding your own young daughter's eyes away from this disgrace, you hurry on to complete your errands. She isn't the only newsgirl you've seen before, but every one of them disgusts you. A woman's place is at her home with her family, not on the streets like a common whore. Hopefully your daughter will never have to come to this. 

You dare not think what terrible twist of fate had been dealt this girl in the devil's game of cards. No, no, that would be too close to caring, that might actually have to bend you mind. The rules were set plain and clear a long time ago. Girl's didn't hold jobs as newsies, it wasn't supposed to be done, it shouldn't be done! If a girl was to work, she should work in the kitchen of a factory, sew clothing for the wealthy, take care of children, serve, or teach if you had enough education. Working on the streets was a degrading, filthy work. It was reserved for the streetwalkers, the woman who shamelessly sold their bodies for money. Your own mother had told you that, and your mother knows best. Shuddering, you push the girl out of your thoughts, judging her before you even give her a second glance, praying under your breath that God will spare your children her fate.

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Damn, Frost thought, as she watched a woman across the street. She had a little girl with her, with large innocent eyes staring straight at her. It wasn't her eyes that captured her attention though, it was the food the girl was eating. Bread, it looked like fresh bread too. Frost's mouth watered. Last night's poker game had cleaned her out and she already owed Ghost money for the papers she had bought today.

At least she had eaten that night with Spot before she promptly went back and lost what had remained of her money. The temptation to steal was strong, but she couldn't do it now, not while she was still selling. If she had been in a different circumstance with another place in New York to go, she wouldn't hesitate, but Brooklyn was her last hope. If she got lucky she might be able to earn enough money for a ticket out of this town. Until then, she was stuck playing by the rules. 

__

Nevah know when one a Spot's lil' boidies will decide ta show up, she rolled her eyes at the mention of the spies. 

Almost every self-respecting newsie had heard of Spot Conlon's spies, but a very select few knew who they were. There were the runners, who doubled as basic informants, but rumor had it that Spot had spies even outside of the newsie circle. Boys so highly above suspicion that they could move freely about New York, never detected by any of the boroughs. It would be just Frost's luck to get caught by one of those very spies. Grumbling under her breath, she tightened the rope belt around her waist to silence it's protests of hunger and began to yell out the headlines when a glint of gold caught her eye.

__

Shit, he is done an' I'se still got fifty papes left, she cursed him. _Damn ya Spot Conlon, _maybe someday she would have enough liberty to say it to his face. That thought alone made this meeting bearable.

"I'se woykin', go away," she used the same line she had used several times before to get him to leave. It never worked.

"I'se got business wit'choo," he stated frankly, planting his cane firmly in the sludge at his feet and resting both hands on it. Looking ever inch a gentleman as boy in rags could. 

"Well I'se ain't got none wit'choo, will ya go away now? I'se gotta sell dese papes," She raised her voice to hawk the headline. A single man came over and bought a paper, Spot stood and waited for the transaction to finish.

"Yous got it all wrong," he told her smugly.

"Whot do ya mean?" She caught a man's eye and he came over and bought a paper, Spot waited.

"Youah style," Spot elaborated, but she still looked confused. "Da way ya sell youah papes, heah, lemme show yous," he walked to her and grabbed on of her papers before she could protest. "Extrie! Extrie! Read all 'bout it!" He called out, lifting the paper over his head and waving it methodically. "Tax increase causin' hundreds outta dere homes! Mayoah approves!" At that headline, four men and two women came over and purchased a paper. "An' dats 'ow ya sell a pape," Spot said confidently.

"Whot did yous do differ'nt dan me?" Frost asked agitated.

"I got a headline dat suit evahy one," He answered simply. "See, dese heah peoples ah poah, dey don' wanna lose dere jobs oah dere homes, dese woyie all day 'bout it. When ya tell dem dat dey might lose somet'ing dat means somet'ing to 'em, like dere house, dey wanna know 'bout it cause it's 'bout dem," He explained as clearly as possible.

"Den whot 'bout da paht wit' da mayoah?" Frost was still skeptic.

"Dat gives dem someone ta hate, people ah always lookin' foah someone ta blame foah dere problems," Spot spoke knowingly.

"An' wheah did yous get dat headline from?" Frost thumbed through the pages, I didn't see nuttin 'bout it no whereas," she complained.

"Page foah," Spot rocked on his feet from his toes to his heels, hands clasped behind his back, humming under his breath.

"City Officials propose budget increase?" Frost asked cynically, and Spot hummed a yes. "Whot does dat havta do wit' taxes?"

"If da people up dere in City Hall wanna budget increase, dats means dere goin' ta needs moah money, an' dey gets da money from taxes," Spot pointed out.

"Wit' dat kinda headline, yous gotta explain it to a lot o' people," She shifted the papers in her arms.

"Nope," Spot shook his head.

"Why not?" 

"I'se don' havta tell yous nuttin," Spot turned to look at her, and was pleased to see the complete look of frustration.

"Yous don' havta, but yous bettah oah else I'se gunna soak yous!" She sounded mad. 

"Nope," he continued humming.

"Fine then," She growled. "I'se just gunna havta teach you da hahd way," she pulled back her fist to strike him but he shook his finger at her.

"No," he spoke in an oddly patronizing tone that did nothing but annoy her.

"No?" She echoed. 

"No," he reinstated. "I don' havta tell yous nuttin, but Is'll make yous a deal," he offered. "Yous ansah my question when I wants ya to, an' Is'll teach yous how ta sell all dese papes fastah," he bargained, and her eyes narrowed.

"I don' need yous," she scowled. "I'se sold dis many papes foah yeahs an' I ain't nevah had no teachah ta helps me!" 

"Fine," Spot started walking away. "Is'll see ya in a few houahs," his laugh rang in her ears as he melted into the crowds.

Burning inside with rage, but not showing it on the outside, Frost began to sell her papers again, not having near the success of Spot. _Damn ya Spot Conlon,_ She repeated the mantra over and over again in her head. _Damn ya._

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//As memories escape me,

As if floating from a dream,

I learned that maybe some things

Are not always as they seem…//

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Bright and early the next day, Spot woke up in a warm bed and tried to remember where he was. Looking around at the dozen of other sleeping figures, he stood and looked around. It wasn't until he saw Pike on the bunk above him that he remembered the night before. He was a newsie now!

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the dark haired boy padded silently around the room, investigating each boy as he slept. So many different ages and features for such a place to hold. All of them relaxed in sleep, some of them were Spot's age, and others were older Like Pike. Immediately though, Spot took a liking to a small boy with shaggy blonde hair who looked like he was the youngest one in the group. The boy was sucking his thumb and fidgeting restlessly in his sleep. A single tear ran from the corner of the boy's eye and Spot felt a twinge of compassion. Reaching out a small hand, Spot gently shook the boys shoulder.

"Hey yous," he whispered, trying to wake the boy. "Yous cryin' in youah sleep," he told the now barely awakened boy. 

For a moment, the strange new boy lay there groggily trying to make sense out of what was happening, then propped himself up on his elbows. Shaking his head as if to clear the fog, he brushed his blonde locks out of his eyes. Sitting up fully he looked at Spot with his deep gray eyes.

"Who's you?" He asked.

"I'se Spot, who's you?" The juvenile asked.

"I'se Outsidah," The blonde boy introduced himself. "Why'd ya wakes me up?"

"Yous weah cryin' in youah sleep," Spot explained with a child's simplicity. "I'se waked up an' see'd dat I'se done it too," Spot sympathized.

"Yous da new boy wit' Pike, aren'tcha?" Outsider scratched his head. 

"Yeah, dats me," Spot said proudly and climbed into the bed with Outsider, sitting across the boy on the covers. Outsider said nothing to the intrusion of space, but curled his legs underneath himself, making room for his new friend.

"Yous the lucky one den," Outsider's narrowly set eyes widened.

"Why's dat?" Spot asked.

"Cause evahy one knows dat Pike Conlon's da best newsie evah!" Outsider exclaimed as loudly as he could without disturbing the other boys. "An' if yous goin' ta loin from 'im, yous goin' ta loin ta be da best!"

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For Frost, Spot's prediction had been terribly accurate. Nearly two hours after the time he had left her on the streets, she walked through the doors of the lodging house, soaked to the bone. It had started to sleet outside, not the soft gentle snowflakes, but the pelting ice storm that stung her skin through the material of her clothes. Underneath a small awning, she had been able to find some shelter and sell the remaining undamaged papers she had, but she had barely made enough to repay Ghost and pay for board.

Probably the worst thing about it had been the satisfied look on Spot's face. The cold she could bear, the sleet she could bear, any kind of weather that was thrown at her, she could bear. The rude people, the terrible hours, and the awful pay, she could bear. It was that insolent, all-knowing, cocky, stubborn, prideful, overly-confidant, and attractively repulsive smirk that pushed her over the ledge. 

Stripping off her sopping outer layers, she lay them with the other ones on the floor by the stove. Maybe by the next day they would be some semblance of dry. Taking the only other pair of clothes she owned, she slipped into the bathroom. True these clothes were nowhere as warm as her other pair, but these would be warmer than the soaking things she was in now. 

Slipping into the bathroom, she stepped behind the wall that blocked off the place for people to relieve themselves and stripped off her shirt and buttoned down the top part of her long under ware. Slipping the shirt over her head, she shivered. Peeling off the rest of her lower garments, she quickly pulled the only skirt she owned over her bare legs. Feeling terribly under clothed, she moved to take a quick look in the mirror.

__

Least ya can't see through da shoyt, she tried to think of something positive. Unbraiding her wet hair, she yanked a brush through it, tearing out the tangles instead of working them out. Her patience was too thin to spend such time on such a menial task. Once a surface brush had been accomplished, she took the pile of sopping clothes and began wringing out whatever water she could into a large wash basin. 

After she was satisfied with what she had done, she went to the stove that kept the upper bunkroom warm, waded through the piles of wet coats, and began to dry her clothes. Standing very close to the source of heat, she held up her long under ware first, needing it more than any of her other clothes. Drying it was a slow and bothersome process, and she knew that none of the others were going to bother with it, but she needed these clothes and she needed them dry. 

None of those other lazy bastards had stood out in the sleet selling their last papers. None of them even tried to sell over a hundred if they even bothered with that many. The lazy slobs, if they kept acting like that they wouldn't get anywhere in life. Of course they were all street rats, there weren't many places you could go after you got too old to sell papes.

"So ya get sick o' sellin' papes? Oah did ya sell dem all?" She didn't even need to turn around to know whom she was talking to.

"I'se sold dem all," She partially lied, yes she sold as she could have, but five papers were so damaged by the weather she couldn't have given them away. 

"How long did it take ya?" Spot continued. "One houahs, two?" she heard him strike a match on the bottom of his shoe and imagined him to be lighting a cigarette.

"Long enough," She snapped.

"Ya coulda sold dem all in undah an houah if yous just let me help ya," Spot reminded. "But dats yous choice," his voice was full of teasing. "Sometimes peoples just nevah wanna give, de's too stubbahn ta see dat da oder way's bettah dan dere way," she knew exactly to what he was referring to. "But it's dere choice," she heard him start to turn and walk away.

"Wait," she stopped him. "I'se got somet'ing ta say ta yous," the anger inside of her was almost too much to control, if she turned around to see that smirk… well….

She turned, but it wasn't a smirk. It wasn't even a sarcastic or ironic, it was just a simple plain look of curiosity that caught her completely off guard. His large finely colored eyes robbed her of her senses for a few moments and it took a few seconds to remember her thought.

__

Damn ya Spot Conlon, She coached herself._ Just say it,_ She tried to get the words to come out, but her anger had been doused and her flare of temper had cooled.

"Nevah mind," she muttered, turning back to her drying. The laughter across the room was enough to tell her that there was a poker match going on over there. A poker-match that she didn't have the money to take part in. 

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An' even if I did, I'se wouldn't, She told herself._ Dis heah dryin' is lot moah impoahtant dan some dumb ol' game,_ She reasoned._ When de's all cold tamarra, I'se goin' ta be dry,_ She gloated temporarily until she heard the laughter again. Above all the rest was Spot's voice, the rare and glorious sound of his unadulterated happiness was an odd by wonderful thing to hear. Blocking out the noise from the room, Frost tried to focus on her plans for the days ahead. _Damn ya Spot Conlon._

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//The strangeness of this moment,

Is one the night will keep,

For surely this one instant,

Will come to me in sleep…//

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Shooting bolt upright in bed, Spot gripped the edge of his covers. His heavy panting the only sound in his ears as he fought through the panic and fear to realities temporary relief. The dreams had taken him back to the refuge, the time when he had been sick. An infected or two had caused his body to be wrought with fever, making him delirious and unaware of what was really going on. All that was clear from that time was the intense pain and heat that had swept over his body.

Bullets of sweat clung to his skin and he wiped them away as he pushed off his blankets. Silently as he could, he got dressed and pulled on his winter accessories. The knowledge of the hour unknown, Spot headed out the door. The urge was back and the bridge was waiting.

Strolling out into the late night air, the winter wind whipped at his back. The cold around him was a tangible thing as he stomped into the deserted streets. The sleet had stopped, but it had made an icy sheet over the streets and sideways of Brooklyn, making so that the Brooklyn leader had to take more care with his step that he liked. 

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Damn snow, he thought bitterly. _Damn ice,_ he continued with his list. _Damn wintah, damn cold, damn da weathah, damn fro-,_ he cut off in mid-thought. _Damn Frost? _The double meaning of the word made Spot think. Thinking about a girl was always a dangerous thing to do. Because the more he thought about them, the higher chance he had of actually caring about them, and caring for people was dangerous. 

It was true that this girl was infuriating, agitating, annoying, sarcastic, and a master at trading sugar coated hostilities, but there was something about her that grasped Spot. Maybe it was that he could see himself reflected so much in her. The pain and the betrayal that obviously ran deep inside of her, the pain that she kept hidden behind the frosty exterior and the fake smiles. Spot had seen enough of people like these to know that they were all hiding something, all running from something, all scare of something, and they would do anything to keep that something a secret. 

__

Too bad foah her, he mused. _Goils always tell_, He chuckled under his breath. It was too bad that he may never hear her confession, as he head got closer to the bridge, the urge increased as the dream returned. The dream didn't come alone this time, all of his memories assaulted him. Every single time he had ever lost someone, every time he had ever been hurt or had a promise made only to be broken. Every single one of these scenes played in his mind. 

Digging into the pocket of his coat, he searched for a cigarette. Fumbling with the stick of nicotine, he struggled to light a match on the brick wall of an unknown building. The satisfaction of addiction did little to calm his shaking hands, or his stretched nerves. The tense muscles in his back only tightened further as he trudged onward till the bridge.

This time when he made it far enough onto the bridge, he didn't pause to wait and think about the situation. Tossing his cigarette into a snow bank, he hoisted himself up onto the edge. Standing, he looked down at the darkness below him. One little step, that was all it would take. Looking up, he saw that the sky wasn't completely covered by clouds like they had been. Patches of open sky let the tiny stars shine down on him. 

The expanse of the sky was massive, the bridge he stood on was massive, everything around him was terribly huge, and he was so small. He was nothing more than a small little scared boy standing on the edge of something much too deep. Looking down at the possible future that awaited him he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Ya ain't got da guts ta jump," The sound of another voice almost startled Spot off the bridge.

"Nevah said I'se gunna," Spot repeated a very familiar conversation.

"Den why's ya up dere? Da view bettah oah somet'ing?" Frost asked sarcastically.

"Yeah," Spot went along with it. "I'se can see evahy t'ing from up heah," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Dat's why yous have yous eyes closed?" Frost taunted in a good nature.

"Yeah," Spot kept his eyes closed and his head facing straight ahead. "If I sees too much o' evahy t'ing, I gets dizzy, den Is'll fall offa dis heah bridge," he explained in a very patronizing tone.

"So yous goin' ta come down offa dat bridge now, or do I'se havta pull ya down?" For that snide comment, Frost got Spot to swivel his head around to glare down at her. "Bettah be cahahful," she instructed. "Yous don' wanna get too dizzy," the pure sarcasm of her tone was more annoying than amusing.

"I don' gotta do not'in yous tell me ta do, woman," Spot answered sharply.

"Yes ya do cause ya know I'se right," Frost countered.

"How do yous know dat yous right?" Spot continued to look down at her.

"Cause I'se a goil an' goils ah always right," she put her hands on her hips. "Now get youah ass down heah, yous gotta teach me how ta sell papes fastah tamarra," she enjoyed watching the temporary look of shock on his face.

"Did yous follow me out heah?" He asked once he had jumped down from the edge. 

"Yeah, you makes 'bout as much noise as one o' doe's new-fangled automobiles," she leaned back against one of the pillars. "An' I was boahd," she shrugged, folding her arms over her chest.

"I'se quiet when I gots outta dere," Spot protested. 

"No yous weah loud," Frost informed. "Don' know why yous wanna come out heah alone dough," She pried slightly. "Da only ones dat do dat ah da ones dat ah goin' ta jump."

"An' you knows all 'bout dis?" He sounded skeptical, his defensive anger rising at her claim.

"I knows a lil'," She turned and looked up at the sky, resting her hands on the edge of the bridge. "I knows dat I'd wanna be alone if I'se was goin' ta jump."

"Who said I'se goin' ta jump?" Spot already knew that was a dumb question. 

"Da view ain't any bettah up dere dan it is down heah," she looked back at him, giving him a look that said you-already-know-this.

"So yous want me ta teach ya how ta sell papes, huh?" he changed subjects, moving to stand beside her.

"Yeah, I guess so," she shrugged. "I needs da money, so I needs ta sell moah papes," she didn't tell him about how great her loss at the poker game had been.

"I ain't goin' ta teach ya till ya ansah my question," Spot told her bluntly.

"I knows dat," she sounded sure of herself. "Who was it again?" She knew very well what it was, but she was hoping that he would have changed it.

"Will yous tell me 'bout youah entire time heah in New Yawk?" Spot repeated the question.

"Wheah da ya want me ta staht?" Frost stalled.

"Da foist paht," he instructed.

"A'ight," she gathered her thoughts. "I'se been in New Yawk foah 'bout t'ree yeahs," she thought back. "I'se lived in evahy borough an' sold in evah terrahtory," she informed. "Harlem, Queens, I'se even been on Stanton," she ticked off the places on her fingers. "An' dats my histahy," She summed up.

"Dat don' ansah my question," Spot frowned.

"Yeah it does," she replied.

"I wants moah dan dat," he ordered. "Tell me 'bout whot happened in all da places," he demanded.

"I don' havta do not'in dat you says," Frost stepped back and faced him. 

"I'se Brooklyn," Spot faced off with her. "An' whot evah I says goes," he stepped very close to her, the anger in his voice almost tangible. 

"Fine," she knew that she had shorted him on her side of the bargain. "Aftah you teach me ta sell papes," she looked up into his eyes; their noses were almost touching. "Is'll tell ya whot yous want," she licked her lips and Spot's eyes narrowed.

"Will ya tell me when I wants ta know?" He tested, remembering his past bargaining mistake.

"Yeah," she answered almost too flippantly for Spot, and a small alarm bell went off in the back on his head.

"Shake on it," he held out his gloved hand, not wanting to spit on the glove. Looking down briefly, Frost clamped his hand in a firm grip before stepping back.

"I'se good to my woyd," she vowed, letting go of his hand. 

"Wes'll see," Spot answered skeptically. Without another word, the two walked back to the lodging house, both lost in their own thoughts.

****

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"Whot's da foist t'ing we'se do?" The excited Spot asked the amused Pike.

"Foist we'se get da papes from da Distahbution Office," Explained Pike. "Den we'se sell dem."

"How do we'se do dat?" Spot pumped out the questions.

"Is'll show yous when we gets da papes," Pike answered. "When we gets the papes," he repeated, as was his custom.

Spot watched as the group of boys and girls parted the way for his tall friend, apparently some of Outsider's words were true. They all let Pike go first, and Spot shadowed his every move. Already the small boy idolized this tall mysterious boy.

"One-fifty," Spot heard his idol speak and a stack of papers was shoved out from under the iron bars. The counter was taller than he was and he couldn't see who pushed them out, but whoever it was didn't seem very friendly. "Let's go," Pike hoisted all of the papers onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm firmly around them.

"Ah we'se goin' ta sell da papes now?" Spot asked eagerly.

"We'se goin' ta carry da bannah!" Pike exclaimed.

"Carryin' da bannah!" Spot cried out in his childlike excitement and Pike laughed. 

"Dat's right boy," he chuckled. "We'se goin' ta make shuah dat all dese people gets dere pape," he motioned to the street where the early morning pedestrians already bustled around. "An' ya know how we'se do dat?" he posed the question to his young pupil.

"How?" Spot was ready to soak up any information that his teacher could impart upon his young mind.

"We'se tell 'em whot we'se got!" Pike exclaimed with his unusually merry manner, and then began to call the headlines. Spot watched all of this with awe.

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//For words can be a hallow thing,

With no meaning in their sound

And lies can weave a tangled web

That we'll never get around…//

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"I knows dat a'eady!" Frost complained, exasperated with the rudimentary education that Spot was giving her.

"You t'ink yous knows it, but I'se goin' ta make it so dat yous'll nevah forget it," he promised, and continued. "Yous not lookin' foah headlines, yous lookin' foah whot a headline can be," Spot explained, and Frost rolled her eyes. "Take dis one foah example, some rich family's kid ran away," he pointed to one of the features inside the paper. "Nobody wants ta read 'bout some rich poyson's kid runnin' off when de's lookin' foah dere own," Spot was very expressive, and it was the only thing that kept Frost from yelling at him to shut up. "So ya take it an' make it look like da kid ran off cause da parents were bad."

"Somet'ing like, Edwahd's family heir missin', muhdah suspected!" She pretended to be calling the headline.

"Good, but not good enough," Spot told her. "But we'se wanna know who's suspected," he scanned the article. "Ah ha! Says heah dat dis brat's got an oldah sistah, but since he's da only boy, he gets da cash," Frost could see Spot's mind at work.

"So we'se say dat 'is sistah killed him?" Frost prompted.

"Right," Spot smiled. "You'se a fast loinah," he cracked a wry grin.

"Not hahd ta loin somet'ing ya a'eady knows," she grumbled, but Spot ignored the comment.

"A'ight, lets look at anoddah one," Spot picked out story after story until Frost was ready to pull out her hair, and then kill him.

"Spot, it's almost noon," she complained. "If we'se don' staht sellin' dese papes, we'se gunna have a helluva lotta fuel foah da lodging house stoves," she referred to the two hundred papes they had bought together.

"I guess we'se done enough o' dis," he looked at the paper in his hand and then folded it back up carefully. "Let's go doll."

Out on the street, they started to sell. Spot on one corner, Frost on the other, each with one hundred papers. One thing Spot hadn't told her was that this was a test, and that he hadn't given her all of the answers. When Spot was done with his papers, it was nearing three, and Frost still had twenty to thirty left.

"Ya ever thought o' trying to sell youah papes poyson ta poyson?" Spot proposed, and Frost looked at him.

"Ya mean go up an' jus' talk ta dem?" Frost gave him a looked that told him that she thought she was crazy.

"Yeah, like dis," he grabbed on of Frost's papers and didn't give her a chance to complain. Walking over to a middle-aged man, he struck up a conversation with him and soon walked away with a broad smile on his face. "Jus' like dat, if ya pick da right poyson, it's poity easy ta sell it," he informed. 

"An' I suppose yous an expoyt in pickin' da right poyson?" Frost let out a deep sigh and put her free hand on her hip.

"Yes miss," He answered with a wide grin. "Jus' so happens dat I'se an expoyt."

****

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//The world will turn as days go by

It leaves us with a single choice

To go along or stay behind

No matter what complaint we voice…//

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The first day of selling papes was long, but enjoyable for the young Spot. He had to curb his habit from reaching into people's pockets as Pike told him sternly that no newsie picked on the job. The solemnity of the boy who was normally so merry captured Spot's attention. Burning the warning soundly in his mind.

"I needs ta get my stuff," Spot told Pike as they headed back towards the lodging house.

"Whot stuff?" Pike asked, curious.

"My stuff," Spot headed off in the direction of where his crate was located. The clothes, his treasure, and the things he felt that were of value from his house all laid in the wooden box.

"Wait," Pike tried to follow the boy who was dodging through the crowds with great ease. With much effort, he managed to keep up with the spry small boy who could cut between people much easier than his lanky companion could.

"It's in heah," Spot pointed into an alley where the medium sized crate lay. Pike spied it and say also that one of the corners backed against the wall had a gaping hole in it. It was through that hole that the little urchin crawled into his past living space. Before the dark head was seen again, a little bundle popped out of the hole, then the downy dark brown hair, then the tiny body.

"I gots it," he sounded triumphant.

"Good job," Pike enthused. "But it's gettin' dahk, we'se should held back," he picked up the boys pack of things and they headed back to their home together.

****

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It was dark by the time Spot and Frost returned to the lodging house. They had sold all of their papers and Frost had never been so agitated. The way he had treated her all day rivaled the way someone would talk to a little puppy dog. It was like he didn't think she could understand anything. The clear winter day had been cold and miserable for Frost and she griped mentally about the great injustices that had been serviced that day. 

Though her bruises from the assault from the Pullvines had faded and disappeared, she was still sore in certain places. Her back ached more than anything else on her body did. The terrible memory of how she was slammed against the walls, the alley's cold ground, the kicks and the punches, just the thoughts made her pain real again. In reality it was the cold that inflicted her misery.

Every muscle in her body ached from the constant cold. Lying down on her lower bunk, she closed her eyes, oblivious to everything else in the room. She hurt everywhere, and not just on the physical senses. Maybe coming to Brooklyn was a mistake, it was opening too many old wounds not quite healed. 

__

Get youah hands offa me! Her own request sounded feeble in her memory. _Not dis time Spectah, yous wheah I wants ya an' I'se getting' whot I'se came foah, _The sinister reminders crept into her conscious. So lost in her thoughts of disturbing thoughts, she had forgotten her whereabouts completely. When a hand touched her shoulder, she jerked upward, her fist automatically launching out into the air before her eyes opened, trying to fend off an imagined attacker. 

The first came in contact with flesh, and she snapped her eyes open to see that she was in the lodging house bunkroom, not the alleyways of New York. The hand on her shoulder had been one to catch her attention, not to catch her. Her fist had not come in contact with the body of an attacker, but with the nose of a boy. A very specific boy had met her fist, a boy that she knew as Spot Conlon.

"Shit," she muttered, moving towards him as he clutched her nose. 

"I t'ink yous broke my nose," he growled under his breath as he clutched his bleeding nose in hand.

"Shit," Frost said louder. "I'se so sorry," She apologized, for as good as it felt to know she had hurt him, it felt terrible an equal amount. The blow hadn't been a fair one and she knew it. "Ghost, go gets him a cold, wet rag," she ordered.

It was as though the whole bunkroom had come to a terrible halt. Games of jacks, marbles, and poker had stopped in mid-play as their leader stood hunched over with the new girl trying to look at the injury. No one was really sure what had happened except the select few that had been watching.

"Sit down Spot," Frost directed him to her bunk and had him sit on the edge, tilting his head back. 

"Damn," she heard him mutter under his breath. "You broke my damn nose, woman," he complained. 

"I didn' break no ones nose," she took the rag from Ghost when he arrived back from the wash room. "Hold still," she ordered. "An' take youah hands down," he did as he was told and she firmly pressed the rag to his bloodied face. 

"Ow!" he exclaimed and pulled back, drops of blood dripping onto his clothes and her bed sheets. 

"Hold still ya baby," she grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, putting the rag back in place.

"Damn ya," he muttered and she smiled, letting go of his hair. 

"Yous need ta lie down, maybe dat will stop da bleedin," she suggested and they carefully maneuvered him so that his head was on her lap, her forceful hand still applying pressure to the bleeding nose.

Everyone in the bunkroom pretended that they were interested in their games and conversations again, but they had a hard time with the strange new girl talking to their leader. They also had a hard time believing that Spot hadn't retaliated. It was true that the boy didn't like to hit girls without a good reason, but getting his nose broken by some random ingrate seemed unfathomable. 

"Yous doin' a'ight?" Frost asked gently. 

"Yea," Spot scowled. "I'se fine," his voice sounded stuff since he couldn't breath through his nose.

"I'se t'ink dat it's stopped bleedin'," Frost informed. "I'se goin' ta see," she pulled the rag off of his nose and sure enough, the blood had finally stopped flowing. Gently, she wiped the drying reddish brown substance off of his face. "Theah," she seemed satisfied. "Does it hoyt much?"

"Yeah," Spot answered honestly. "Damn yous gotta be cahahful who yous punch," he gingerly touched his afflicted face as she laughed softly.

"I'se sorry," she said genuinely. 

"I ain't mad, yous didn' mean not'in by it," he dismissed, knowing the truth behind his words. Besides, what could he do, hit her back after she had taken care of him? He might have not been the smartest, well-mannered boy around, but he knew better than that. 

"Why'd ya come ovah heah anyway?" Frost reverted to the possible situation before the accident.

"Oh yeah," he thought for a moment. "I'se goin' ta ask yous ta ansah my question," he remembered.

"Ya want me ta tell ya heah?" She raised her eyebrows, not enjoying the possibility of so many hearing her undisclosed past.

"Nah, I was goin' ta take ya some wheah else," he told her.

"Wheah?" She asked, curious. 

"Da goil's room," his tone dropped so no one would hear their secret place.

"But dey keep dat place locked cause it ain't done yet," Frost hissed.

"Dey keep da hatch ta da roof lock too," Spot pointed out. "I'se picked plenty in me life," he told her matter-of-factly. "An dat door ain't goin' ta be no problem. 

"Whot's da catch?" Frost sounded skeptical. 

"Dere ain't no catch, unless we get caught," Frost rolled her eyes at the bad pun. 

"Fine, let's go," she stood and started towards the door, but Spot caught her arm.

"Not now, ya want all dese peoples ta see us?" He growled and she saw his point. "Aftah dey goes ta sleep," he told her. "Den we'se can go."

****

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The bunkroom was silent except for the heavy breathing of the several people inside the room. Then there was the padding of a pair of feet and the slight metallic cling of an oil lamp being taken off of its hook. Then the padding noises again, as if someone was trying to be as quiet as possible, then the sound of a mattress squeaking in protest. The final noise in the bunkroom was the sound of more padding feet, the door clicking open, then shut. 

If you followed the noise out into the hall, you would have heard the soft whispers of two voices, and then the striking of a match. The soft clink of glass being set down on the wooden floor was magnified in the silence of the night and a soft glow radiated from the tiny match end. Transferring the glow from the match to the lamp wick was a boy with dark hair, strange eyes, and a painfully swollen nose. His companion was a girl in her long under ware and what looked like her normal shirt thrown carelessly over it. In her hands there was a small pack that looked like a few small objects were stored inside.

She was the one that held the glass chimney and replaces it when the flame was lit and blazing steadily. Beckoning with his head, the boy started down the hall till they came to a door that wasn't too terribly far from the main bunkroom. Dropping to her knees silently, the girl took something that looked strangely like a large hairpin and began working in the lock. 

A satisfactory click echoed in the hall and the duo entered the room, closing the door behind them. The room was unfinished with lumber, tools, and nails lying around in scattered piles. Resting the lamp on the ground, they took seat a seat on a spare sheet that was lying on the ground. 

"I gets my ansah now?" Spot asked.

"Yes," Frost nodded. "I keeps my woyd," she frowned and searched for where to begin. Untying the knot that held together the small bundle on her lap, she unfolded the square of material to reveal the contents. A red bandana, a pair of unusual brass knuckles, a knife with a carved handle, necklace with a strange coin like pendant, and an embroidered handkerchief completed the collection.

"Whot is all dis?" Spot asked confused, fingering the different items with flickers of recognition.

"Da Cowgoil o' Manhattan, da Spectah o' Queens, da Ice o' Harlem, da Actress of da Bronx, an' da Duchess o' Stanton," she listed. "Ya evah hoyd o' dem?"

The edge in her voice brought complete disbelief to Spot's mind as he looked at the girl in the lamplight, then back at the things on her lap. "Shit," he muttered, and looked at her again. "Dis is goin' ta be one helluva story, ain't it?" He asked, and she only nodded.

****

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//And may the stars hold witness,

To all the things they've seen,

And the things they'll see tonight

As in the sky they gleam…//

****

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A/N: Good chapter, good chapter, sort of short, but I got to really keep you hanging on this one. -laughs maniacally- I bet you all really hates me now. -hides from all of the rotten fruit and knifes that are to be thrown at her- Be kind! I promise more! Umm… Sometime! But as all of you authors know, more reviews lead to more writing, faster. I make no promises to when the next installment will be, but I will try to keep them fairly regular. Here are a few notes to the lovely people who actually read AND reviewed my story. Golden Muse awards to all of them.

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Kaylee: You want more huh? You want more? Well there is more, ha! And that is all you are getting for now. Don't you just hate me? Don't worry, more will come eventually…. Maybe… if I feel like finishing the story… -evil laugh-

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Ireland O'Reily: See, I told ya that it is a good idea to read this one. Even though I am writing these stories so they can be read separately, it is best to read them together, or this one first. It all makes so much more sense. So you think that his name is Patrick, too? I dunno, I always thought he looked like a Patrick in the movie, so that is what his name is going to be! So there! Humph. I hope that this story is clearing things up for you in Blind Spot.

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Skittles: Hey girl, I like to do shout outs! They are fun! And if you keep reviewing, you will keep being on the list. -hint-hint-wink-wink-nudge-nudge- Ha, ha I think you get the idea. Yeah I am mean author like that, I always like to leave them hanging, always wanting a little more, and always wanting to strangle me so I will write more faster. ^_^ Oh the joys of being me. He, he and now I have an adoring fan that will love me forever! Thank you for being so nice. ^_^

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Spot!Muse: Whot 'bout me? I'se da star o' da story, I t'ink dat I'se should get some notice.

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Raven: You're the head character of the stupid story! Your mentioned a million times in each chapter!

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Spot!Muse: Shuah, I'se mentioned in da story, but I'se not mention no where else. Why not? Ain't I special enough?

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Raven: You're very special, Spot.

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Spot!Muse: Den why don't I gets some kinda sign dat I'se loved?

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Raven: Fine! -grumble-grumble-

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Spot!Muse: For being such a loveable, demanding bastard. Thanks for making my head run over with stories so that I can't sleep well at night and so that I fail all of my tests at school. You are such a kind little jerk.

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Raven: There, ya happy?  
**Spot!Muse: **Yeah I'se - wait a second, whose a bastard? 

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Raven: Oh wow, look at the time! I really need to be going now.

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Spot!Muse: Not now, I gots some woyds ta mince wit'choo!

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Raven: We'll talk about it later Spot. -Vanishes Spot!Muse to the land of the muses-

Anyway, Just thought I would share that all with you. I am going to go and workout now, I'm all flabby from sitting here so long and writing. Ha, ha, I'll blame it on you all if I lose this hockey tournament this weekend. Sorry coach! Honest! It was the people on Fanfiction.net! They are the reason I couldn't block any goals! Nah, I would never do that. I like you all. ^_^


	6. Unspoken Attraction

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I also take no claims to the lyrics posted through this fiction, they aren't mine and they never will be. They are the works of someone else's genius and no infringement is intended.

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A/N: The following is Frost's story, it starts as Frost speaking the story in first person narrative then morphs into a third person story telling form. Having Frost just narrate a long story from first person seemed terribly boring and dull to read, so I am trying something else. I hope it doesn't confuse you, so I just thought I would warn y'all….

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG-13 for language, violence, death, and adult situations.

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Chapter 5: Mutual Attraction

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//You're working, 

Building a mystery,

Holding on, holding it in,

You're working,

Building a mystery…//

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The unfinished room, Brooklyn lodging house

****

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Through a dirty window, the faint glow of a single lamp was visible. Two silhouettes move silently against the second story glass pane as a random passerby observes them. One of a figure of a girl and another of a short boy, both were moving slowly, carefully, as though they were attempting to be as silent as the night itself. Uninterested by them, the walker passed on, not knowing what great secrets were yet to be told. 

Inside that window, Spot and Frost sat on the sheet, the content of the cloth bundle open on her lap, Spot's eyes wide. As the lamp light shone, eerily reflecting the two, the planes and the angles accentuated by the contrasts of light and dark. The shadow play was intriguing, but that wasn't what held Spot's attention. It was the girl that sat next to him, staring down at the past in her lap. 

"It all started t'ree yeahs ago when I cames ta New Yawk," she spoke in a very calm, distant voice as she began her story. "I'd won da ticket heah in a pokah match an' I needed a change so I t'ought why da hell not?"

"Wheah weah yous befoah?" Spot interrupted and Frost gave him a withering stare. 

"I'se tellin' my stoahy, an' I'se only goin' ta tell ya whot I want ta," she clarified. "Dis is 'bout me an New Yawk," Spot put his hands up as if to shield off her hard words, and she returned to staring back down at her lap, her face a mask of concentration, her hands gripping the golden cross at her throat. "I got off dat train, an' dats when it all stahted…."

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The Bronx train station

****

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No one paid attention to the young girl with piercing dark eyes as she stepped off of the train, all of her worldly belonging in a knapsack at her side. Her features weren't ones that would draw much attention. The curves of her body only starting to develop in her adolescence, the sharp planes and angles of her face creating contrasts that were almost too defined. The nose on her face at one point might have been small and well shaped, but now it looked as though someone had struck her and broken it. Her black eyes glittered behind dark lashes as she strode across the wooden boarding deck. 

It was much different here than where she had last been and the change was welcome. The city was huge and she imagined that no matter how many enemies she made here, she would always be able to hide. Walking down the side of the busy dirt road, she noted how everyone seemed to be in such a hurry to get somewhere. The carriages, the roar of the people, the cry of some boy on a street corner selling papers, it was the last that she was looking for.

"Hey boy!" She called, lifting the skirt above her knees she ran across the street, dodging traffic. "Hey you, boy!" she yelled again as she approached him. "You're a newsies aren't you?" She asked when she had his attention and he looked at her with disbelief.

"Yeah, I'se a newsie," he answered somewhat sarcastically. "Whot's it ta yous?"

"I want to be a newsie with your borough," she informed and he laughed.

"You wants ta be a newsie?" he threw his head back and laughed hysterically. Crossing her arms across her chest, the girl waiting for him to finish laughing. Several people in the crowd around her turned the head as the walked by to see what the young man found so comical, but found nothing but a very perturbed looking girl. Finally, wiping tears from his eyes, the boys regained his composure.

"Are you quite through?" She asked indignantly. 

"Yeah," he gasped, holding his side with one hand and his stack of papers in the other.

"Good, because I wanted to give you this," She drew back her fist and hit him firmly across the jaw, the initial blow was followed by the other fist and delivered her hand strongly into his gut. The sound of the air wheezing out of his lungs was enough reward for the girl and she waited again for him to straighten before continuing. "I want to be a newsie," She stated again. "Where do I need to go?" This time, the boy merely pointed.

****

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"The Bronx Lodging House," she read the tarnished plaque on the building. "This is my stop," she took a deep breath and ascended the steps to the door. When she reached it, she paused, brushing off the front of her skirt, running a hand over her mussed chestnut hair, and wiped the back of her sleeve across her face. It came off covered with grimy black suet from the train. Her whole body was covered with it and she knew, but no was no time to worry over vanity. 

Opening the door she stepped inside the dingy building. If the tarnish marker and the crumbling front steps and front landing were any indication that this place was in need of repair, they did the place injustice. The place needed to be torn down and rebuilt from the ground up, it looked as though it was ready to fall apart at the slightest misstep of abuse. A portly man around forty looked up from behind the front desk, he set down the paper that he had been reading and stood.

"Can I help ya miss?" He asked, the girl automatically took the comb over of hair across the balding top and the flushed red cheeks. Obviously the heat of the New York summer wasn't agreeing with the man. 

"Yes," she answered firmly. "I'm here for a bed," she informed. "How much is it to board in the dump?"

"I'se sorry Miss, but dis heah place if foah da newsies," he motioned the to the surroundings and the girl sighed.

"I am a newsie," she explained.

"Yous a newsie?" The man's eyebrows shot to the sky. "But yous a goil!"

"Yes, I am," the girl dug into her knapsack and pulled out a small purse, taking out a dime she put it on the desk in front of him. "A days board can't be any more than a dime," she reasoned.

"It's five cents a night, but miss, dere ain't no special place foah goils heah…" he drifted off. "Dere's just boys heah, ain't ya got anoddah place yous can stay?" He seemed unsure what to do. The rules of the boarding house was that you had to pay your own board and you had to be a newsie, never was there ever said anything about you having to be male. 

"I've been with boys before," The girl said plainly. "And if they try anything, I teach them a good hard lesson," the man didn't like the gleam in her dark eyes as she said those words.

"Fightin' ain't allowed in da lodgin' house," he said frankly.

"Then I'll take them outside," she negotiated relentlessly. "So do I just go up and pick a bunk or do you show me where I stay?" She tapped her foot impatiently and the man came out from behind the desk.

"Oh yes, this way," he started up the creaking stairs one at a time. The man's weight was protested greatly by the old warped boards. When they were at the top, the large man turned and went down another long hallway, muttering things under his breath, and the girl guessed it was about the stupidity of a girl being a newsie. Biting her tongue she waited as the man opened the door into a large room that had a few dozen bunk beds all lined up in two tight rows. The wooden frames of the beds also looked as rotted and decrepit as the rests of the building. 

"I ain't shuah whot bunks ah taken an' whot bunks ain't," he informed. "Yous'll havta wait foah some o' da boys ta come back," he wiped his hand over her sweaty forehead. "Dat door dere goes to da bat'room," he pointed to the door directly across the hall. "Yous'll havta shah it wit' da boys," he watched her carefully for any flicker of disgust or hesitation.

"I've done it before, and I'll do it again," she answered simply. "Thank you," with her money already deposited, she waited for the man to leave before she went into the bathroom. Right now might be the only time she would have to take a bath for a long time. All of the other times the boys would be here and now was the time that she needed the bath the most. 

****

. : ^_^ : .

The evening came as it always did, and so did the newsboys. The loud chatter of the few boys that entered consisted mainly of what they were planing on doing now that they were finished with their selling. Unfortunately, whatever their plans had been for the evening would be completely shot when they came in the door of the bunkroom. A girl was sitting in the middle of the room, her long damp chestnut hair hanging loose and she rose when the boys came into the room.

All of the first boys that had seen her had stopped in the doorway, obstructing the view for the other boys. The shock of seeing a female in the midst of the their masculine domain was starling at least. Annoyed at the delay to their entrance of the room, the boys behind the others pushed them through the door only to come to much of a same fate as their predecessors.

"Whot ah yous doin' heah?" One finally managed to spit out.

"I'm a newsie," the girl responded with great flare.

"Like hell yous ah," one of the boys snorted, the outrageous claim causing all of them to stifle laughter.

"I am," she walked up to them coolly, straightening to her full height and still coming up several inches short of the smallest boy. "And there isn't anything you can do about it," she turned and began to walk away when a hand clamped around her arm.

"Wait jus' a second," it was the first boy who had spoken, he had white-blonde hair that fell in silken waves around his face. His eyes were as light as hers were dark and the grip that he had on her arm was testament to his physical strength. "No one said dat yous can be a newsie," he told her.

"No one has to, I've paid my board and will sell my papers weather you like it or not," she kept up her cool front.

"I'se da leadah 'round heah, an' whot I says goes, an' I ain't goin' ta 'ave no _goil_ bein' a newsie," he spat out the word girl like profanity. 

"I didn't know that having a girl as a newsie would be so threatening," her dark eyes flashed the challenge.

"It ain't threatenin'," The leader protested.

"Then why is it a problem?" The girl raised her eyebrow.

"Cause," The leader searched for a reason. "Yous ain't a boy," he struggled for another reason but couldn't find one.

"I paid for my night here, now will you show me what bed I can have, or will I just have to take one?" she kept his gaze steadily even though many would have shriveled under it. 

"Fine," he growled, and let go of her arm. "Yous can stay ovah dere," he pointed to the lone single bed in the corner. 

"Thank you," she smiled victoriously and flounced over to her sack of the things, retrieved them, then took them to the bed closest to the wall where he had indicated. 

An awkward period ensued. Well awkward for the boys at least. The girl didn't seem to be having any trouble with this, but they seemed unsure how to react to the female invading their area. They shuffled around, scuffing the toes of their boots on the floorboards, fiddling with their suspenders, all of them casting shaded glances at the female. None of them said anything. The girl finally noticed them and looked over at the group of seven boys or so. 

"Pretend I'm not here," she said indignantly, and the boys looked stupidly at each other. "Go on!" she made a waving motion with her hands. "Play poker, curse, spit, do whatever you did before I was here," she instructed and they looked at her blankly. "Act normal dammit!" she exclaimed and they seemed surprised that she would use profanity. Rolling her eyes she went right up to the smallest of the boys whom was still about five inches taller than her. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Mahbles," he watched her carefully.

"Well Marbles," She stated. "Do you play poker?" She held up a worn deck of cards held together only by apiece of old string. 

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Wanna play?" She offered and he looked at her stupidly. "Fine," she put two hands firmly on his shoulders and pushed him to the ground. "You," she pointed. "Do you play poker?" the boy nodded and took his place next to the stupefied Marbles, and so the process went. She went around the whole room until every boy was sitting in the circle except for the leader. He leaned back against one of the beds, eyeing her skeptically. 

"Whot if dey don' wanna play pokah?" he asked evenly.

"They weren't doing anything else," the girl sat in the circle, leaving a space open next to her. "And you aren't either," she pointed out. "Would you care to join?"

"Nah, I'se good," he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You can't play poker?" she guessed.

"I nevah said dat."

"Then why don't you want to play?"

"Cause I'se not intahested," he scowled.

"Are you afraid that a girl would beat you?" she challenged and his eyes narrowed dangerously. 

"I ain't scahed o' nuttin'," he informed.

"Then play," she insisted, and grumbling, the blonde boy took his place next to her.

That was the last of the conversation for the next long time as they played a game of five-card draw. Each of them sat cross-legged, the girl's skirt hitched up over her knees, and the excess material tucked into her lap. The betting wasn't very high, but it was a fair sum in the pot when the final game was down to the leader and the girl. 

"She ain't goin' ta win," Marbles whispered to the boy next to him and he nodded in agreement. 

"Four of a kind," the girl proclaimed, laying down the hand she held, showing that she had all four of the queens.

"Straight," the leader said in a defeated tone and the girl started to collect her winnings when the leader grabbed her wrist. "Flush," he added and a smile pulled his mouth into a wide grin. His eyes flashed with merriment of the victory as he looked into hers and she yanked her wrist from his grasp, the cool mask coming into place.

"Congratulations," she smiled warmly, but even the warmth had a hint of ice.

"T'ank yous," he answered courteously. "I'se glad yous made me play," he added.

"I am too," she told him and the group seemed stunned by that answer.

Several more boys had been coming in while the game of poker had been in session and were overly curious about the new girl. The questions began to fly in earnest as the leader finished gathering his winnings. People asked why she was here, whose girl she was, what her name was, where she was from and a multitude of other questions. None of them were answered very accurately for not a single one of the boys actually asked the girl. Having had enough of the loud torrent of questions, the leader stood, raised to fingers to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle, the group silenced instantly.

"Shaddup an' listen!" He ordered, then turned to the girl who was still sitting on the floor. Extending his hand, he assisted her to her feet, then released her hand and turned to face. "We'se got some questions foah yous," he told her. "Whot's youah name?" he asked.

"Actress," she said simply.

"Fine, I'se Hook," he introduced himself and then turned back to the boys. "Any oder questions?"

"Why's she heah?" 

"She's heah ta be a newsie," a boy from the back piped up and the group turned to see a boy with a large black bruise on his jaw. "We met oilier," he explained, and now it was Actress's turn to laugh.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

The unfinished room, Brooklyn lodging house

****

. : ^_^ : .

"Yous sold wit' Hook?" Spot interrupted again.

"Yes," Frost rolled her eyes and then glared at him for disturbing her story telling. "Dis was 'is knife," She picked up the sheathed knife and drew it out of its cover. The curved blade glinted menacingly in the lamplight. 

"Dat's Hook's hook?" Spot pointed and Frost gave him another glare.

"Yes!" She exclaimed. "Can I'se get back ta tellin' my stoahy?" She asked permission with a sarcastic tone.

"Only if yous t'ink yous ready to," Spot missed the sarcasm and listened.

"Weeks went by," Frost started again. "Hook didn' get along too good till dis one day, he took me ta dis one pahk…."

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//You're so beautiful,

With an edge and a charm,

You're so careful,

When im in your arms…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

The Bronx City Park

****

. : ^_^ : .

"Look, I ain't done nuttin' wrong," Actress insisted, pushing her long braid back over her shoulder, her newly acquired New York accent firmly in place. The spring was quickly fading into summer and it was definitely starting to heat up around the Bronx. 

"I knows you ain't done nuttin' wrong," Hook said simply. 

"Den why'd yous bring me heah?" She motioned to the still greening foliage around them, the trees standing tall, the flowers still blooming in the milder heat before the scorching heat would wither them.

"Ta talk," he answered with a careless manner, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

"Ta talk?" Actress echoed, her eyes instantly going from roaming their pretty surroundings to the boy's face. 

"Yeah," he looked at the path in front of them. "I t'ink dat we'se got off on da wrong foot an' we'se need ta staht ovah," he sounded very sincere. "Aftah all, I'se da leadah, an' whotevah I says goes," he added the little authoritative bit. 

"Ah yous feelin' a'ight?" She stopped and looked at him.

"Yeah, I'se fine, why?" he halted likewise and faced her.

"Yous actin' strange," she studied him in the afternoon light. He was a handsome boy, but not so much to attract unnoted attention. A long scar ran down his left cheek and his nose was a bit too long, but besides that, he was good looking. A strong jaw, piercing eyes, a wide mobile mouth, the shaggy blonde hair almost white in the light, and his skin just as blonde as his hair.

"Why'd ya say dat?" he fidgeted nervously. 

"Cause, yous been fightin' wit' me since da foist day I'se been heah," she crossed her arms across her chest as she looked up at him. "An' now you wants ta be my friend?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. 

"Dere's somet'ing else isn't dere?" she asked skeptically and her eyes widened as he took a few steps closer. 

"If I'se told you dere was somet'ing else, whot would you say?" he pried and Frost took a few steps back, moving off of the path and backing against a tree. 

"Depends of whot da somet'ing else was," she turned her head to see what she had ran into, then swiveled her head back to see that Hook was standing directly in front of her again. She was trapped.

"I wants yous ta sell wit' me," he proposed.

"Whot?" she gasped, caught off guard. 

"I wants yous ta sell wit' me," he repeated. "I wants ta get ta know yous bettah," he explained.

"Why?" she breathed as he moved closer. 

"Cause," he muttered bending over. "I'se da leadah," he breathed against her mouth. "An' whot I says goes," with that, he pressed his lips softly to hers. Even with such a gentle kiss, a shiver was sent down Actress's spine, the surprise of the sudden turn of the conversation was startling and she looked up at him warily as he pulled away.

"Whot was dat?" She asked stupidly as he stepped back.

"A kiss," he answered simply and held his hand out to her. "Let's go," he instructed as she hesitantly took his hand. "We'se got a lot ta talk 'bout," he smiled and they walked down the path together in the gentle light of the late spring afternoon. The birds seemed to sing a little bit sweeter and the sun shone the slightest bit brighter for the young lovers as they progressed down a different path entirely. The path of young love.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

// Maybe there's a God above,

And all I've ever learned from love

Was how to shoot at someone,

Who outdrew you…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

The summer went by and everything was blissfully simple. No bumps in the road, and no diversions, the fourth of July came and went with a bang. Fireworks were set off and Actress and Hook both went to see them. They had walked through Queens to Manhattan, to see the annual fireworks display. The fireworks in the sky weren't the only ones that were going off as the two young hearts united as one in the simplest of kisses. 

The days ticked off of the calendar one by one and Hook and Actress were becoming well known as the best selling pair in the whole New York area. Together, they moved two hundred papers a day without a problem. Their romance also was holding a reputation for Hook had been known as quite a womanizer before Actress had come along and put him on the straight and narrow. Anyone who could take one of the best known skirt chasers of the New York newsies and reform him had to be quite amazing.

It was in October when things began to fall apart. The boys around the lodging house had been complaining about Hook's leadership, and his power was quickly waning. The fall weather was fading into winter with a rapidity that all the boys dreaded and out them in even a fouler mood. Loyalties were switched, promises were broken and soon it was brought down to a battle. Two sides had been forming, one behind Hook and one behind the boy Actress had first met when she got there, the one she had punched. His name was Tips. 

The crisp autumn night was filled with hints of winter as the group of boys stood in a circle around the two leaders. The city seemed to be deserted, the bulls were no where to be seen as the two faced off. The tears she brought forth had been meaningless and she knew who would be the winner of this fight. Hook had been sick even though no one else knew, he hadn't told her either, but she knew. 

The knifes were out now as the two circled, the boys calling out profanity, one boy who she knew as Gambler held her back. Gambler was one of the few that were still faithful to Hook through it all. Burying her face in his chest she didn't watch the fight, she wouldn't, she couldn't. The cheer of the boys told her than a winner had been decided. Peeking out from the safe shelter that she had constructed for herself, she saw that Hook was on the ground. 

"No!" she cried out and tore herself away from Gambler. "No," she whispered as she knelt over Hook's fallen body, turning him over on his back so she could see his face. A terrible red stain was forming on the front of his shirt where he had been stabbed and she vainly pressed her hands against it. The wind whipped through the boys as they congratulated their new leader. "No," she pressed her face against her love's chest, hoping to hear the heartbeat that signified his life. It was faint, but it was there. 

Bravely, she wiped away her tears and looked down into Hook's face. It was battered and bloody, but she cradled his head against her lap, the blood from her fingers getting into his white-blonde hair and staining it. He opened his blue eyes and looked around deliriously as she tried hard not to cry for him. He wouldn't have wanted her to cry.

"Act," he rasped, trying to smile, but she lent over and quickly pressed her mouth to his.

"No," she whispered. "Don't try ta talk, you needs youah strength," she was oblivious to the fact that Gambler was there with her now, putting pressure on Hook's wound. "Youah goin' ta be jus' fine," she sniffled, forcing back the tears. "Just you wait and see, you's goin' ta be jus' fine," she ran her fingers through his hair and he tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace.

"I ain't stupid," he was breathing heavily now and he raised a shaky hand that still held his knife. "When I dies -" he started but she cut him off.

"You ain't going ta die," she shook her head violently. "We'se goin' ta get yous a doctah an' den evahy t'ing will be jus' fine," she took his free hand between both of hers and pressed it too her face, it was cold. "Yous'll see, evahy t'ing will be fine."

"Take dis," he handed her his knife. "I wan' yous ta have it," he coughed, his breath rattling in his chest as the end came nearer. "I love yous," he smiled as his head bobbed to the side and his hand dropped, not having the energy to control them anymore.

"You ain't goin' ta die," Actress repeated frantically. "You's goin' ta be jus' fine," she looked down at the wound to see that it had stopped leaking blood, and then she saw Gambler there, pressing his blood covered hand over his friend's heart. She met his eyes and he shook his head. 

"He's gone," Gambler rasped and Actress looked back at her love's face. His eyes were halfway open, but glazed and unseeing, the rise and fall of his chest was stopped and the tears blinded her again.

"No…" she whispered. "No," She looked down at the knife in her hand, the life-blood staining it and he hand. "No!" she yelled and dropped the knife into the dirt, clutching Hook's face in her hands. "Yous goin' ta be a'ight remembah?" she whispered. "Yous an' me, we'se goin' ta be togethah foah a long time," she jerked when Gambler's hand was on her shoulder.

"We'se gotta get outta heah," he told her. 

"No…" she refused. "He can't be dead," she traced her bloodied fingers over his face, as if she was trying to memorize every line, ever plane, every nuance of his appearance. 

"We'se can' stay heah," he pulled her to her feet and she struggled violently

"Lemme go! Lemme go!" She cried again and again, now seeing that the whole group of boys had left them alone. The terrible brutality of the situation struck her. Leaders were disposable. If they weren't appealing to the group anymore, they just found someone else to rally behind and rid themselves of the old one. "He ain't dead Gam," she insisted. "He can't be…."

"He is," Gambler spun her around and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. "Hook's dead," he locked eyes with her. "He ain't comin' back, an' we'se gotta get outta heah afore da bulls get heah," he said frankly before he let go of her shoulder and knelt next to his fallen comrade. Picking up the blade, he took the sheath out of his friend's waistline and put the two together. His friend's namesake now seeming so futile and terribly ironic that he would die by it. "Let's go," Gambler said to the still muttering Actress. Trembling violently, she started to walk beside Gambler as they headed back towards the lodging house.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

The unfinished room, Brooklyn lodging house

****

. : ^_^ : .

"We'se went back ta da lodgin' house aftah dat," she remembered, her voice sounded dead as she continued. "But it nevah was da same. Aftah awhile da boys dere decided dat dey didn' like havin' me 'round no moah an' Gamblah found out dat dey weah goin' ta do da same t'ing ta me dat dey did ta Hook," she took a deep breath. "So he gots me outta dere an' dats da last I evah saw o' him oah da Bronx," she put the knife back in the sheath and set it aside. 

"Wheah did ya go aftah da Bronx?" Spot asked, almost reverently. 

"Harlem," she said heavily picking up the necklace with the coin strange coin medallion on the end. "I got dere in da middle o' da night, an' it were freezin' cold outside…."

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

Harlem lodging house, mid-November

****

. : ^_^ : .

"I'se comin'! I'se comin'!" The voice responded to the pounding on the door. "Hold ya hoyses," he grumbled as he unbolted the door. Opening it, he was surprised when a girl pushed herself inside and shut the door firmly behind her.

"I'se heah ta sell papes," she started before he even had a chance to ask any questions. "I gots money foah boahd," her tone was business like as she extended a hand and gave him a nickel, placing it in the hand that didn't hold the candle. "Wheah's da bunks?" 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" The man said loudly, protesting her sudden intrusion. "I don' know who yous t'ink you ah young lady, but dis is a lodgin' house foah newsies an' newsies ah boys," he informed as she unwrapped herself in the lamplight. It was when the dark eyes met his that a pang of cold was struck into his heart. 

"I'se a newsie," she said plainly. "An' I probably sells moah dan any o' does bums dat stay here," she added confidently. 

"Dis is a lodgin' house foah boy newsies," the man insisted, puzzled that this girl would even want to sell papers.

"Did it say dat on da sign out dere?" She asked and the man hesitated. "No it didn'," she spoke very plainly, now free of all of her winter outer-garments. "Dis heah is a place foah newsies, an' I'se a newsie," she pointed to the hand that he held her nickel. "I'se paid my rent an' I sells me papes just like da rest o' dese bums," she crossed her arms across her breast. "Now yous show me wheah I goes, oah I'se goin' ta find it myself," she tapped her toe impatiently. 

"I - uh - yous can't - I means ta say dat - da boys ah -" the man searched for his train of thought and the girl turned to go off on herself. "Wait!" he called and she turned back to him. "It's dis way," he motioned, grumbling in defeat under his breath.

"T'anks," she said coolly and followed.

The layout was similar to the lodging house of the Bronx, except better kept. The floor plan was fairly generic for the various lodging houses, every once in awhile there were differences, but in this case, it was very similar. As quietly as possible, the man creaked open the door and the sound of snoring and deep breathing of sleep met their ears. 

"Jus' take a bunk dat ain't got no one in it," he whispered and she moved past him and into the dark room. The door shut behind her, robbing her of the light that she had. Shuffling along the floor, she moved to the far end of the room as she had been in the last establishment and put her hands carefully on the bottom bunk. No one occupied it, but there were blankets covering it tidily. Breathing a sigh of relief, she prepared silently for bed and crawled under the covers. Sleep captured her in a matter of instants, welcomed gaily by the exhausted girl, but the nightmares that accompanied the sleep, were not.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//It's not a cry you can hear at night,

It's not somebody who's seen the light,

It's a cold,

And it's a broken Hallelujah…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

As was her custom, she rose before the boys and found the washroom. Preparing for the day in the privacy that a community bathroom provided with a group of boys at all ages had never been an appealing idea to her. Before the boys were even awake, she had preformed all of her morning rituals. 

As she re-entered the room to fetch her money and place her belongings in a safer position, she was startled when a hand landed firmly on her shoulder. Spinning around, she took a fighting stance, but relaxed when she saw it was simply one of the boys from the room. Though she was relaxed she was till on edge, always on edge.

"Who ah yous?" He asked and she did a quick once over of his appearance. He was stockier of build and shorter, but still taller than she was. His black hair was slicked back and curled at the ends, his eyes were a strange hazel color. A strange talisman hung from the end of a leather strap around his neck.

"I'se a newsie," she informed and turned to perform her original task.

"Yous a whot?" his voice rang out in the bunkroom, rousing a few more boys.

"I'se a newsie," she reinstated, turning to face him, ready for the conversation she had experience multiple times.

"But yous a goil," he insisted and she rolled her eyes.

"An' yous a boy," she retorted.

"But goils ain't newsies," he persisted.

"I'se a goil," she motioned to herself. "An' I'se a newsie," she spoke slowly and deliberately. "Yous a boy, an' yous a newsie," her tone held a hint of mockery.

"Yous stayin' heah?" The black haired boy scratched his head and some of the other boys started to pay attention to what was conspiring in their bunkroom.

"Yes," the girl answered plaintively. 

"When did yous get heah?"

"Last night."

"Yous evah sold afore?"

"Yes."

"Where?" 

"Lots of places."

"Ya got a name?" the dark haired boy couldn't figure this one, but he never was the smartest one in the group.

"You can call me," she paused, not wanting to brand herself as Actress anymore or give them any clues of her ties to the Bronx. "Ice," she said finally. "Da name's Ice."

****

. : ^_^ : .

As the day wore on, Ice discovered that the black haired boy was the leader of the Harlem group and had labeled himself Coin. A very different kind of relationship began to develop between the two. Ice refused to talk about anything about her self or her past or show emotion, but Coin didn't seem to mind. The other boys were put off by her act, but somehow it seemed like a challenge to Coin.

"Heya Ice," he would greet her whenever he saw her, only to be brushed off each time, but never fail, he would smile and move on. An unnaturally happy boy he was, and it puzzled Ice. How could he be so easy going and amiable, and still hold the respect of these rough boys? 

Weeks pressed on, and Thanksgiving came and went unnoticed by most of the newsies. Snow came and fell, making selling weather more miserable that it already was. It was December twenty third before Coin really approached Ice. 

Two days before Christmas, the sky was overcast, the ground was covered in sludge, and Ice was in a bad temper. Her papers had fallen in the snow when a careless carriage driver had turned the corner too sharply, forcing her to jump out of the way and drop them. Though about half was salvageable, half were not and this did not add to her Christmas cheer. When Coin came up to her, she was muttering things about the only thing good about Christmas was that people were more willing to spare an extra coin or two.

"Heya Ice," he smiled and she started muttering profanity instead. "I'se gotta question foah yous," he proposed and she turned and waited, giving him her attention, but making it clear that she rather wouldn't. "Dere's a dance tamarra night in an ol' warehouse, an' I'se wond'rin' if yous would like ta go wit' me?" he proposed without as much as bating an eye, then smiled broadly.

"No," Ice answered simply, she was freezing, starving, and wanted to go back to the lodging house in peace. 

"It will be fun," he tempted.

"No," she replied firmly and started the long walk back to the lodging house.

"Everyone else will be there," he tried again.

"No," she repeated.

"It's da big dance o' da yeah, an' dere will be all da kids from Harlem."

"No."

"Will yous t'ink 'bout it?"

"No."

"Den Is'll make ya t'ink 'bout it. Ya wanna go?"

"No."

So on and so forth for the long walk home. Coin constantly asking, Ice constantly refusing, both were enjoying it. Finally within the last five minutes of the walk, Ice stopped in her tracks and faced off with the pestiferous boy.

"If I goes wit'choo, will yous shaddup?" she asked, arms akimbo.

"If dats whot yous want," he shrugged.

"Fine," she gave in. "Is'll go wit'choo," she conceded, he didn't say anything, but he smiled, and Ice cursed herself for giving in.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

A warehouse in Harlem

****

. : ^_^ : .

The place was absolutely packed. All of the working boys and girls from around the area were there. Some of the girls had managed to rummage up some old out of date party dresses and added splashes of color to the otherwise dull clothes. Lamps of all shapes and sizes lit the large room well, and some of the kids had brought their instruments and were playing lively tunes.

Ice stood plastered to the wall, Coin by her side. Though he persistently attempted to get her to dance she refused. This went on for an hour or so before a couple came up to Coin and Ice. They apparently knew Ice and started talking. 

"Is dis youah dame?" The boy of the pair, only about two inches taller than Ice asked.

"No," she replied before Coin could.

"Oh, den why yous been standin' togethah all night?" the girl, who was taller than Coin and one of the few in party dresses, asked. 

"Cause I said I'se go wit' 'im," Ice explained. "Aftah he boddahed my foah 'bout a half houah," she grumbled. 

"Oh," the girl nodded understandingly. "Coin can be veahy good at getting' whot he wants," she spoke a little too knowingly and Ice felt uncomfortable with the unlined tone of that comment.

"So ya ain't dancin' cause ya don' know how?" The short boy quickly changed subjects. 

"I'se can dance," Ice claimed.

"Den why ah yous standin' heah on da wall?" The girl seemed to enjoy tormenting people. 

"Cause I ain't gotta parade 'round like a whore ta prove I'se wort' somet'ing," Ice spat coldly.

"I ain't gotta do dat neither!" the girl proclaimed.

"Right, evahybody a'eady knows dat yous a whore," Ice smiled wickedly. "Ya ain't gotta prove nuttin'."

"A'ight yous, if yous such a good dancah, why don' ya come out heah an' show evahy body?" The girl challenged. 

"Nevah said I'se good," Ice corrected. "I jus' said dat I'se can dance."

"So yous a bad dancah?" 

"Nevah said dat neither," Ice shook her head. Meanwhile, Coin and the shot boy watched this all with strange amusement. Ice didn't know who this girl was, and that was what made it all the more fun. This girl was Coin's old flame, factory worker, and known for her fighting and dancing skills. Her name, appropriately was Dancer.

"Yous just scahed," Dancer smirked and Coin watched Ice's reaction. A bit a fire glinted in her mysterious black eyes.

"I ain't scahed o' nuttin'," she denied. 

"Den why ain't ya dancin'?" She fired back.

"I'se told ya a'eady," she paused as the makeshift band started up a lively Irish dance. "But I figuah dat whores ah poity dumb," she insulted.

"Yous nuttin' moah dan a wort'less nobody!" Dancer exclaimed. "An' I bet dat yous can' even dance," she sniffed indignantly. "But dats okay," she took the arm of the short boy and started back towards the dance floor. "Newsies nevah weah good at anyt'ing," she shot back over her shoulder and Ice's control snapped. 

"We'se dancin'," Ice grabbed Coin's hand and pulled him towards the dance floor. Dancer and her short dance partner seemed amused that they would come out so readily. Pausing for a moment on the busy dance floor, Ice felt the beat and joined in on the lively Irish gig. 

Together, Ice and Coin moved over the dance floor. Their feet seeming to fly though the complicated steps with an ease that would cause most to be filled with envy. When the dance ended, Coin saw something he never thought was possible. Ice smiled. It wasn't a smile twisted with sarcasm or malice, but it was an honestly happy smile. 

"Dat'll show 'er!" Ice exclaimed, pulling in a deep breath. "Told ya I'se can dance," she proclaimed triumphantly. 

"Ya wanna make 'er even moah jealous?" Coin asked.

"How?" Ice's eyes shot to his, she relished this, and Coin pointed up. Above Ice's head hung a small green spring of mistletoe and she quickly brought her gaze back down to Coins, but he was already taking her carefully into his arms and Ice didn't have time to pull away.

Coin kissed her soundly and an eruption of cheers and catcalls went out among those around them. Resting her hands on his face, Ice blocked out the sounds around her as their mouths tangled together. Goosebumps rose on her skin as Coin began to gently rub his hands up and down her back. Finally, Coin pulled back, looking down into her face and Ice slowly became aware of what had just happened. Dropping her jaw, she tried to say something, but no words came. Realizing that she was still held firmly in his strong arms, she dropped her hands from his face and put them on his chest, pushing. 

"Wait," he whispered, loosing one arm and taking her hand in his. "I ain't done makin' 'er jealous," He tugged her along with him as he drew her through the crowd. Ice followed dumbly.

When he knew that they were in perfect view of Dancer, he stopped and faced Ice. "I wan' yous ta have dis," he reached behind his neck and drew off the strange medallion that she had noticed the first day and placed it around hers. 

"I can' take dis," Ice protested honestly. "It's youahs," she made moves to give it back, but he stopped her.

"Nah, it looks good on yous," he smiled and leaned in to kiss her again. He placed a gentle kiss to her mouth, stopping any further arguments. 

"You bastahd!" Ice heard the voice from behind them and she knew that it was the girl that she had talked with earlier.

"Gotta problem Dancah?" Coin asked smoothly. 

"Shuah as hell I do!" She exclaimed shrilly. "You gave dis lil' whore youah necklace when yous wouldn't even let me weahs it?" She continued loudly, drawing attention of the crowd. 

"I didn' give no whore my necklace," Coin said calmly. "If I wanted ta do dat, I woulda let yous have it," he smiled confidently and Dancer's jaw dropped, her face turning as red as the party dress she was wearing.

"Well I'se glad dat yous found eachoder!" she yelled in his face and Ice turned to watch her. "Now yous can be nuttin' togethah!" She turned sharply on her heel and stalked off into the crowd. It was then that it was clear that almost the whole room had stopped and listened to their conversation and they were now all watching Ice and Coin expectantly. 

"Wanna give dem a show?" Coin whispered in her ear, and before she could protest she felt herself being lent back wards in Coins arms, his face dangerously close to hers.

"Coin," she hissed. "Whot ah yous doin'?" 

"Kissin' a poity goil," he answered, smiling as always. 

"Stop this," she growled under her breath, knowing that the whole room was watching. 

"Da show must go on deah," he commented and with that he kissed her.

****

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Christmas Day, Harlem streets

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"Nobody evah buys a pape on Christmas," Coin said as he walked down the deserted street towards the only person out that day. 

"Ya nevah know," Ice retorted. "I'se sold five a'eady," she knew that was pathetic knowing that it was practically noon and she had been out there all morning.

"How many papes did ya buy?" He questioned.

"Enough," she shrugged, not wanting to admit that she had bought far under the normal amount.

"So dats like whot, ten, fifteen?" he teased and she scowled. 

"Ah yous heah just ta annoy me oah ah yous goin' ta make youah self-useful?" she sounded impatient. 

"I'se heah ta talk ta yous," he informed. "Yous gotta be getting' boahd out heah all alone," he stopped as she came up next to her. 

"I'se fine," she snipped, then seemed to remember something. "Hold dese," she shoved the papers into his arms and he automatically assessed that she had about twenty. "Heah," she lifted her hands behind her neck and seemed to be struggling to retrieve something with her glove covered fingers. "I'se still got youah necklace," she explained, trying to get a grip with her gloved numb fingers.

"Yous keep it," he told her. "It looks bettah on yous dan me," he shrugged.

"No," she insisted. "It's youahs, pro'ly means somet'ing ta yous," she cursed as she couldn't grip it. 

"It means moah if yous'll weah it," he admitted and she grimaced.

"Last night was fun an' all," she dropped her arms to her sides. "But dere is nuttin' betweens yous an' me," she pointed back and forth between them. 

"Nuttin'?" he asked.

"Nuttin'," she stated again, plainly.

"Dat's why yous kissed me back," he sounded skeptical. 

"I'se a good actress," she bragged.

"No body's _dat_ good," he stressed.

"Maybe I'se dat good," she retorted.

"Yous liked it," He smiled, that same annoying, infectious, attractive smile. Ice didn't say anything, but she rolled her eyes. "So yous don' deny it?"

"Give me back me papes," she reached out towards the stack that he held.

"Yous did, didn' yous?" his eyes sparkled merrily and he held the papers out of her reach.

"I'se dis close ta soakin' yous," she held up her fingers to show a very small amount. "Give me my damn papes!" He was laughing at her now. "Fine!" she finished trying. "Yous asked foah dis," she punched him hard in the face, and his head snapped back, but he still was smiling, it infuriated Ice further.

"I likes you too," Coin said simply and Ice tackled him, completely and thoroughly enraged.

Somewhere along the line, the papers were littered over the sidewalk as the duo rolled in the sludge. Ice struggling and throwing punches, just trying to make contact, and Coin laughing. The snow and sludge soaked into their clothes, freezing them to the bone and finally Coin used his superior strength to pin her underneath him. Both of their caps were gone, and they were breathing hard. Ice was breathing from physical exertion and raised temper, Coin was gasping from laughing so hard for so long. White clouds came from their mouths, and Coin was still laughing, Ice was still infuriated. 

"Get offa me!" She yelled, trying to throw him off, but finding it useless.

"Yous look funny," he continued to laugh, pinning her down firmly as she found her struggles were futile. 

"Yous such a bastahd," she growled.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I really am," he had stopped laughing but the smile was still in place. The answer he gave caught Ice off-guard and she watched him warily. 

"You ain't supposed ta agree wit' me," she reprimanded, sounding annoying that her insult was shot out of the sky.

"I'se sorry," he apologized.

"No ya ain't, now get offa me!" She ordered, wiggling again.

"Yous funny when yous mad," he teased.

"Get da hell offa me!" She yelled. 

"Not till ya tell me one t'ing," he bargained and she stopped moving for a few moments.

"Whot?" she took a deep breath, slightly winding from her intense struggle.

"You liked kissin' me last night, didn' you?" he asked, the same annoying grin in place. When she didn't answer, he started to lean down, lowering his face to hers. When he was almost close enough to taste, Ice made a quick flipping motion, throwing him off of her and allowing her to escape. Not bothering to salvage her hat or her papers, she ran without looking back.

A very dumbfounded Coin lay on his back for a few moments, processing what had just happened. Then he began to chuckle as he sat up and watched her tiny form sprint from the scene of the crime. Picking up his wet hat, he continued to laugh, as he placed it on his head. The cold around him didn't seem to penetrate his jolly mood as he stooped and collected her hat as well. Retrieving the papers that were worth saving, he started back to the lodging house, laughing the whole way.

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The unfinished room, Brooklyn lodging house

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"Yous ran away?" Spot asked.

"Yeah, o' coyse I ran away," Frost fingered the leather strap that she still held in her fingers. "I weren't goin' ta fall foah no oder guy," she explained. "It hoyt too much," she clarified. "So I ran," she shrugged.

"Damn," Spot muttered.

"Whot?" She asked.

"All dese times dat I'se hoyd 'bout dese goils, I nevah t'ought dat dey weah all da same poyson," he shook his head like he still didn't believe it. 

"So yous hoyd of me?" Frost arched an eyebrow.

"O' coyse," he nodded. "I'se hoyd 'bout all dese poysons," he admitted. "De's legends."

"I'se a legend?" Frost seemed amused.

"O' coyse," Spot confirmed. "Yous almost as biggah legend as me," he boasted.

"Shuah," Frost sounded skeptical.

"You ah!" he insisted and she only stared at him.

"Can I'se finish heah, please?" She cocked her head to one side and Spot nodded. "T'anks," she muttered and recollected her thoughts. "Anyways, I ran an' dat bastahd didn' have no clue whot happened to 'im. I didn't see 'im till dat night dough, I'se sittin' on da roof, just t'inkin'…"

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Harlem lodging house roof, Christmas night

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"Go away Coin," Ice said bitterly, not even having to look around to see whom had joined her.

"I promise I'se won' kiss yous," He spoke and Ice said nothing so he slowly approached her as she stood looking over the edge onto the streets of Harlem. "It's a lil' cold ta be standin' out heah wit'out no coat on, don'cha t'ink?" Coin asked when he made it next to her.

"No coat?" Ice looked down and saw that she had removed it to dry that afternoon and never gone back to retrieve it. "I guess I foahgot," she shrugged and looked back out onto the streets.

"I gots youah papes," he held up the crumpled salvaged papers and handed them to her. Taking them, she smiled to herself. "Whot?" he asked.

"Yous ah da most frustratin' bastahd I've evah met," she laughed to herself and Coin looked confused. "I means dat yous tries ta make me mad, an' den yous go on an' apologize like dere's nuttin' wrong," she sniffed in a very loud unladylike fashion. Rocking back and forth from her toes to her heels, she wrapped her arms around her torso a little tighter. "Mosta da time, no one evah apologizes foah nuttin'," she went on, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. "Makes it easiah ta hate da poyson," she laughed nervously and for once, Coin didn't smile.

"I don' likes it when people hate me," he said solemnly. "I'se got enough problems wit'out da whole woyld hatin' me wit'out not reason," he looked down at his feet, then back out at the streets. 

"Yous really means dat don'cha?" Ice asked, looking at him and he returned her look, puzzled. "Yous really have problems?" she got an incredulous look from Coin.

"O' coyse I gots problems," he said plainly. "Evahybodies gots problems," he looked up at the clear sky, the stars twinkling ovah head.

"Yous just seems so happy all da time," Ice muttered under her breath. "Didn't evah t'ink dat yous unhappy," she added.

"Nevah said I'se unhappy," Coin continued to look up at the sky. "Just said dat I'se got problems."

"So yous happy an' yous got problems," Ice shook her head.

"Yep," Coin nodded.

"How do yous stay happy?" Ice asked, honestly curious.

"I looks at da stahs," he admitted. "Oah a flowah, oah a poity goil," he looked at her and she blushed. "Anyt'ing dats beautiful makes me happy, cause I'se can look at it an' know dat as long as dere's somet'ing beautiful out dere, dere's gotta be somet'ing bettah dan dis foah me," he spoke evenly, without reserve, open and raw as he shared his secrets. Then he ducked his head and smiled. "I'se nevah told nobody dat afore," he muttered then looked at the sky again. "I don' knows why I'se told yous," He looked back down at her, she had stopped rocking and was watching him carefully.

"That was amazing," she said, forgetting to use her accent. "Maybe you told me because I needed to hear it," she smiled. "Thank you," stepping forward, she rose to her tiptoes and gave him a soft kiss. "Merry Christmas," she whispered, pulling back and walking to the fire escape leading to the bunkroom. Coin didn't follow her this time, he stayed on the roof, and smiled.

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//Someday I wish upon a star,

Wake up where the clouds are far behind me,

Where trouble melts like lemon drops,

High above the chimney tops,

That's where you'll find me…//

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Eight months later, August, Harlem

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They never talked again about the Christmas night out on the roof, or the things shared. They never talked about the kisses at the party or the day tumbling in the streets. Never did the mention of the necklace ever come up, though Ice kept it tucked under her shirt along with the golden cross. In fact, Coin and Ice never really talked again after that night. That is until the night of the fire.

The Harlem lodging house caught on fire, though everyone got out safely, it was traumatic. No one knew who set the fire, or if it was an accident, but one thing was known for sure, there was no saving the old building. The insides were burnt to a charred black, nothing was salvageable, and nothing was really worth saving before the fire struck. The fire caused the entire group to face their futures and think of other places they could stay or other professions where they could make livings. This is when Ice approached Coin.

He was standing outside the building, looking at its blackened brick shell. The smells of smoke still in the air, the wet ash lying in piles at their feet. Charcoal and suit stained both of their clothing and faces. 

"Ah yous a'ight?" Ice asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, yous?" He turned, his hazel eyes ringed with red from the irritation from the smoke. 

"I'se fine," she rubbed her arm with her hand nervously, not sure where to go with the conversation. "Yous stayin' 'round heah now?" she asked. 

"Yeah," he nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'se dere leadah, dey needs me now," he shrugged. "I dunno whot I'se goin' ta tell dem, but I'se gotta lead dem somehow," he smiled, the sparkle of his unusually white teeth standing out against his grimy face.

"Yous'll do fine," Ice encouraged. "Yous a great leadah," an awkward silence fell between them as they both searched for safe ground for conversation. 

"Yous stayin' 'round heah?" He asked casually.

"No," She answered almost too quickly. "I - I'se been t'inkin' 'bout leavin' foah awhiles now," she admitted and she could have sworn she saw sadness flicker into his guarded expression. "I ain't got no reason ta stay heah now," she looked at the burned lodging house.

"Wheah yous goin' ta go?" Coin asked courteously.

"Manhattan, Queens, Stanton maybe," she shrugged. "Wheahevah I'se can find a place ta stay," she gave him a slight smile. "I jus' came ta tell yous goodbye," she watched his expression carefully. "I t'ought dat yous might wanna come wit' me, but I guess dat dey needs ya heah," her smile wavered and his face remained set. "I wanted ta give ya back dis," she walked towards him as she reached behind her neck. "I figuah dat yous'll find someone else ta give it to," she held out the necklace and he made no movement to take it. Stepping even closer to him, she took his hand and opened it, carefully lowering the necklace into a pile on his large palm. Closing his fingers around it, she let his hand drop.

"So yous really goin'?" his voice sounded full and he cleared his throat. 

"Yeah," she shifted nervously, looking up warily into his face. "Dere ain't no point in askin' yous ta come wit' me, is dere?"

"Nope," he shook his head and looked down at the hand that held the necklace. "Dis t'ink nevah looked too good on me," he opened his fist and looked at the strange coin. "I'se not even shuah wheah I gots it from," he sighed heavily. "We'se had some fun dat Christmas Eve, didn't we?" His eyes sparkled. "I'se can still see da way Dancah looked when yous called 'er a whore," he chuckled slightly, and looked down at Ice again. "I'se goin' ta miss yous," he said honestly. "Dere ain't enough goils out dere like yous," he chucked her under the chin with his fist. 

"T'anks," she smiled shakily. "Dere ain't enough boys like yous," another awkward silence followed. 

"I really t'ink dat you looks bettah wit' dis on," Coin finally said, holding up the necklace. "It always kinda made me looks like a sissy," he offered it to her. "I wants you ta have it, ta remember me by," he smiled as she took it. "A token of me esteem," he smiled a little broader when she put it on. "I'se always wanted ta say dat," he laughed and looked at his feet then back at her. 

"T'anks," she murmured, fingering the strange coin. "Is'll keep dis foahevah," she smiled and stepped back. 

"Take cahah of youah self," Coin instructed. 

"I'se will," she promised. "Yous take cahah too," she returned.

"I'se will," he said gently as they looked at each other for a long time. "Well I'se bettah get goin'," she motioned back over her shoulder. "I'se gotta figuah out wheah I'se goin' ta go," she took started walking backwards. 

"Yeah," he agreed. "Maybe Is'll see ya some oder time," he thought he saw her eyes mist over.

"G'bye," she choked and he could have sworn he saw a tear slide down her cheek as she turned around and ran. Maybe the Ice of Harlem had melted. If she had or not, Coin would never know.

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The unfinished room, Brooklyn lodging house

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"So yous left Harlem aftah dat fiah?" Spot sounded surprised.

"Yeah," She lowered the medallion onto the cloth alongside the knife and other things.

"Did ya evah go back?"

"No," she shook her head.

"Wheah did yous go next?" He asked.

"Stanton," she yawned. "I'se caught a boat, didn't havta pay nuttin' cause I sneaked on," she smiled at the memory. "I'se remembah it like its were yestahday," she smiled and stopped talking when Spot put a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Shhh," he instructed and she was quiet and listened. Someone was coming up the stairs. 

Quickly, Spot blew out the light and moved off of the sheet, Frost got the general idea and stood in the pitch black. Huddling up, they covered themselves with the sheet, hoping that the person wouldn't come inside. Their wish didn't come true because the door creaked open and a light shone inside, both of them stopped breathing. 

"Hello?" The voice rang out. "Anybody in here?" it was the lodging house owner. With a loud 'humph', he closed the door and started back down the hallway. It wasn't until he was well down the way that Frost and Spot let out simultaneous long breaths.

"Dat was close," Spot breathed.

"Yeah," Frost yawned. "Dis has been nice an' all," She continued quietly, listening to the man descend the stairs. "But can we'se finish dis latah? I'se tiahd," she complained.

"Fine," Spot relented, rather sleepy himself. "But yous gotta finish youah stoahy when I'se want yous to," he held her to that condition.

"Fine," she grumbled and shimmied out from under the sheet, in the total darkness it was harder to make it to the door, but not impossible. As quietly as possible, they sneaked out into the hallway and tiptoed down to the large shared bunkroom. 

"When ah yous goin' ta tell me 'bout youah past?" Frost asked as they cracked open the door.

"When yous tell me youah real name," Spot bargained. 

"Promise?" Frost asked.

"Promise," Spot responded and they shut the door behind them. Without another word, they slinked over to their respective bunks, careful not to wake anyone, and lay down. Both of them digesting the words that had been spoken tonight. 

__

God, Frost prayed. _If yous up dere, I'se got a problem foah you, _She closed her eyes tightly and continued._ I wants you ta make its so I don't wanna fall in love no moah, _She wished. _I don' wanna fall in love wit' Spot Conlon!_

In the same room, different bed, a boy was making a similar wish with a different ending. A boy with dark hair and strange turquoise-gray eyes, lying on the top bunk, gold tipped cane by his side. _God, if dere is a God,_ He started. _I needs youah help,_ he admitted. _I needs ya ta make it so I don' like dis goil no moah,_ He prayed. 

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A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to post this chapter, I couldn't get it just right, and it still needs some tweaking, but I've kept you all waiting for it too long. I don't like this chapter it is really lacking something. In fact, I hate this chapter. -Burns chapter and starts over- Gaaaaaaaarg! It makes me mad when I have something I want to get across, but it just doesn't come out right! -spills out profanity that would make even Spot blush- Oh well, it's not like anyone really reads this story anyway. -sigh- That is a really great boost for my self-esteem, but I at least have -counts- two faithful readers/reviewers! Golden Muse awards to both of you!

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Skittles: Hey babe, first, thank you for actually reading my story! -cries- You like me! -does a happy dance- As for your fan fiction that you wrote, I'd love to see it. This is a place for improvement, not for 'professional authors.' I mean look at the stuff I post! It lacks in major ways! Everything I post is practically a first draft. ^_^ If no one else reads your story, I will. Post it and maybe some people will come along side and help you improve, that is what I like about this place. You can get really honest people just telling you all the ways you need to get better. It is a real growing experience.

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Ireland O'Reily: The only other person who actually likes my writing. -gives you a cookie- So this isn't quite a helluva story, but it was a nice break and gives me a chance to really develop Frost. I am trying a different type of writing here, one where I really don't go into a lot of relationship details and just really gloss over a lot of things. Maybe there will be a whole prequel to this prequel! Agh! Yea, a story of Frost's history in full! Woo hoo! I don't know, I really don't like this chapter… -frowns- oh well, I really enjoy your reviews, thank you for your faithful encouragement! Take care and Happy New Year!

For the rest of you all, brutally honest reviews are welcome along with those that just want to tell me how great I am, but I prefer the brutally honest. Thanks and Happy New Year!


	7. Opposites

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story, I am dirt poor, so don't sue me.

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A/N: I am depressed because I just finished writing chapter seven in **Blind Spot, **(which you should all read after this one) and my gosh it was sad. So if I am not around for awhile it is because my mom has committed me somewhere for extreme bipolar behavior. -_^ The question of the day is, will Frost give up more of her history?

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG - 13 for violence, swearing, and all that jazz, you know the stuff that was in all my other chapters. ^_^

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Chapter 6: Opposites

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//It is strange to think about loving someone,

Love is a concept no one understands,

For the ones who think they understand it,

Know the least of us all…//

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Frost was especially guarded in the days that followed her late night confessional. It was awkward for Spot as well, because he wanted to know the rest, but he didn't want to seem that he was paying too much attention to this new girl. The borough was already talking about how he spent far too much of his free minutes with the strange newsie. For this time away from each other meant less time having to truly confront the emotions that roiled inside of them.

The past she had told Spot let him know that she most likely wasn't very welcome in Harlem and most definitely wasn't welcome in the Bronx. He knew that Coin and Tips were still the leaders there, and if he had any idea from her other known identities, she wasn't going to be too warmly welcomed in the other territories either. Brooklyn was her last resort. 

This gave Spot a sick kind of pleasure, while also a strange twinge of sadness. If she had been the Cowgirl of Manhattan, the one that had broken Jack's heart, she wasn't going to be allowed in any of the Manhattan territories. It was then that Spot made the connection, Frost had been with Jack. That made things more complicated. Manhattan and Brooklyn had a fairly good bond, but any bond could be broken very quickly, especially with someone so influential on the leadership around New York. 

Why had she run here? Why hadn't she run to the train station and gotten out of here instead of bringing her problems to Brooklyn? Being a leader, Spot knew that he couldn't jump to conclusions, but he also knew that he couldn't trust anyone, especially strange new girls with strange, complicated pasts. The only problem was what was he going to do about it?

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Running had been on Frost's mind. She had been particularly diligent when it came to playing pickpocket and she had managed to scrounge up enough money to buy a ticket away from here. Maybe she even had enough to make it to Chicago, but she didn't have anything for the other things, like food. The idea of having Spot teach her how to sell was so she could sell her papers and then have more time to pick. It had helped a little, but some of the concepts just weren't sticking. 

She was glad for the lodging house owner for he had saved her enough time that she might be able to escape from here before she had to tell Spot all of her past. Even if she was an underhanded, sneaky, thieving, street rat, she did keep her word. At this point she had enough enemies in New York without wounding the great Spot Conlon. Though if she weren't around to tell her story, she wouldn't have to.

A fresh start was what she needed; her game of pressing the limits was quickly catching up with her. There were people out there that would be willing to kill her if they found out where she was located, but she didn't think that would happen. As far as she knew, no one else besides Spot had any clue to her origins, which was a good thing. Some of them knew that she had been in New York for awhile, but that was harmless enough, they had all been in New York for awhile or there whole lives. 

It was critical the information that she gave out, it must be done discreetly, and only the things that she wanted them to know. This game was long, tiring, and it never ended. For once she wished that she would be able to find a place where she wouldn't have to contently be running, but this wasn't an easy feat. Just as a play can only last so long, a charade such as this was doomed to end.

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The lodging house was still buzzing at the new arrival of this small boy. Spot wasn't sure why he was such a topic of interest, but he assumed it to be good. No one ever got this much attention if they were bad, did they? The conversations were mainly started around the fact that Pike had given Spot his last name, almost claiming him as a brother. This was never heard of in any of the newsie rings, what did it mean?

Those that asked Pike got no real answer. He would just smile in his strange way and mutter things twice that didn't really make sense, but no one bothered to question their leader's strange ways. Outsider and Spot could almost always be seen together playing marbles or jacks on the floor of the bunkroom. The two had become an inseparable pair, holding each other in the highest esteem. 

If Spot didn't understand something about the happenings around the bunkroom, Outsider was always willing to explain it for him. Even then, the idea of superiority was established in this young relationship, as Spot was the one in command. Outsider never objected, he was much better at following than leading, and he enjoyed his new playmate. 

Though the young newsies didn't sell together, one could have sworn they were partners. The truth was that Pike had claimed Spot and another older boy hold over Outsider. This never bothered them much, it was much more fun to play in the warmth of the inside than the cold of the outside.

So it came to pass, as boys tend to do, Spot and Outsider grew, as did their older selling companions. Spot stayed smaller than his counterpart, but he still was in control. Their boyish looks changed as they aged, and soon the day came that Pike decided it was time to leave, and it was time to appoint his successor.

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//Images are not always what they seem,

More often they are different,

More often still,

they are nothing like what we see…//

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The day came that Spot wanted to hear the end of the story, but it seemed the Frost had sensed this and was avoiding him. Always she would return late from selling and become engaged quickly with some game of cards or a deep conversation with whoever was around. Knowing that the whole room would watch his actions, he didn't want to make his pursuit of this girl too obvious. His nose was still swollen from the accidental assault, and he had gotten one slightly black eye from the incident. Though she had apologized, Spot was still sore over the matter.

Of course he knew himself a handsome lad, no thanks to her, and found himself rather vain of his appearance. The egotism of the lad was nearly unbearable for some, but many girls were willing to look past this for a few minutes alone with him. The revulsion that this brought upon many of the more chaste girls was strangely amusing to Spot, especially when he ended up with them at the end of the night. 

Though the frequency of his outings had been reduced by what he claimed the harsh weather, many others suspected his holding of a steady mistress. None could prove this rumor, but Spot was not dumb to it and the last image he wanted to put forth was that he was pursuing this strange girl with a complicated past.

Being powerful held many benefits, but with each a drawback. As a recognized figure, any tidbit of information that could be garnish was taken and elaborated for the make of a fantastic story. Though it was true he hadn't tried to stop any of these tales, in fact he had furnished the information for some, he wasn't quite sure of his feelings towards them. They had helped secure his position as the infamous leader of Brooklyn, but they had also achieved him a reputation that wasn't entirely true.

The great leader, the renowned skirt chaser. The man known for his many mistresses and extensive knowledge of the bedroom passions. The boy who was seen shamelessly kissing girls he barely knew, stealing their heart as well as their breath. Spot Conlon was a virgin. Though he would die before admitting the fact. No one knew it, and no one ever would. 

"Hey Spot!" Outsider's call from across the room brought him to attention. "Come ovah heah!" 

"Whot do ya wont?" Spot growled as he came over, not enjoying the idea of being called like a dog.

"Dere's somet'ing out dere dat I t'ink yous'll wanna see," he pointed to the window that looked out over the street right outside of the lodging house.

The lamps were lit outside as darkness fell all too soon over the Brooklyn streets. Shadows moved shiftily against the walls and the dirty sludge and mud that were the streets shone as they froze in the rapidly dropping temperatures. Roaming the area with his eyes, he didn't see anything at first and Outsider simply pointed to a shadowed area. There stood Frost, but she wasn't alone, there was another girl with her, one that Spot had never seen before. This piqued Spot's interest intensely, if he could only hear the conversation. 

"Stay heah," Spot ordered his second and went to fetch his coat. Moving quickly, but with the same carefully aloof air that he was known for, he was dressed with his outside wear and down the stairs in less than a minute. Casually, he strolled back into the kitchen area that he knew had a back door, if he could sneak out of the lodging house he might be able to eves drop on this strange conversation, pulling some blackmail over Frost. Emily, the lodging house owner's daughter, was in the kitchen, and she looked at him curiously.

"Gotta use da back doah," he explained. "I hope dat ain't a problem miss," he doffed his hat in respect for a lady. 

"No," she smiled warmly. "Got right ahead," she motioned with a floured hand, she was cooking something and it smelled wonderful.

"T'anks," Spot replaced his hat and headed out the door, not wanting to be reminded of his hunger.

The light, warmth, and sweet smell were erased with the silent closing of the door. It was dark, cold, and foul smelling in the dank alleyway. To his dismay, the hardened snow crunched loudly under his feet, so much for moving stealthily. With every step his winced, trying to pick out the hardest or least covered areas. At this rate he was never going to get there in time. When he made it to the end of the alleyway, he was careful to stay in the shadows as he watched the girls across from him, trying his hardest to catch any single word.

"…Ah yous shuah?" He heard Frost ask rather loudly.

"Yeah, I'se shuah," the other girl responded. "I'se sahry," she put a hand on Frost's shoulder with an uncomfortable familiarity.

The next words were lost to Spot as they were spoken too softly, and Frost pulled something out of her pocket and gave it to the other girl. She seemed grateful, spoke a few more words, then retreated into the night. When she was well down the street, Frost started back to the building looking deep in thought, and Spot emerged from the shadows. 

"Found yous self a friend?" He asked sarcastically and she jumped. 

"Conlon," she hissed, not relaxing at all with her identification. "How long yous been dere?" she asked and Spot swaggered over towards her.

"Long enough," he smiled that same overly confident, disgustingly attractive smile that sent chills down Frost's spine. If there was anyone she would give anything to kill, it was he, and if there was anyone she would kill to sleep with, Spot was he too. The thought gave her little comfort.

"It ain't polite ta eves drop," she reprimanded.

"It ain't polite ta keep secrets," he quipped.

"Den I'se say dat we'se bot' ain't got no manners," she spat on the frozen ground and Spot laughed.

"Touché," he chuckled, having learned that word from a newsie that had once stayed here, he hadn't been there long, but he was book learned and managed to teach Spot a word or two. "But yous pro'ly don' knows whot dat means," he gloated.

"I knows," she shot back. "I ain't stupid like some people," she sneered.

"Ah ya now?" Spot moved closer to her still. "Den yous'll know dat it'd be good foah yous health ta tell me whot dat lil' meetin' wos all 'bout," he threatened smoothly.

"I ain't gotta tell yous nuttin'," she scowled and backed away.

"Course ya don't," he kept approaching. "No ones gotta tell nuttin'," he smiled, but it wasn't friendly in the least. "Mosta da time, it's bettah foah yous ta tell," he paused then added. "Less painful."

"Yous t'reatenin' me Conlon?" She arched an eyebrow.

"I'se getting' whot I wont," he stated simply.

"An' da way yous do dat is by t'reatenin' a goil?" she backed into a wall and began scooting towards the side, Spot still in lazy pursuit.

"I gots oder ways o' getting' infoahmation," he said suggestively and Frost's eyes widened momentarily.

"I sweah if yous touch me I'se goin' ta make yous coyse da day yous weah boyn," she warned.

"I a'eady coyse dat," he chuckled. "But who's makin' da t'reats now?" For this she had no response, but changed subjects.

"Has anybody evah told ya dat yous a bastahd?" she asked.

"Not often," he admitted. "Most evahy one dat has don' live ta tell 'bout it," he boasted with an edge that made it difficult to weigh this truth of his statement.

"Look, I don' havta tell yous nuttin'," she ducked into an alley, running down the passage, and he followed quickly. 

"Yous havta tell me whot I wants ta heah," he growled as he caught up to her, grabbing her arm.

"Foah shoyt guy you shuah do runs fast," she taunted, trying to tear out of his grip.

"Watch it," he warned menacingly.

"Watch whot?" She asked innocently. "Yous embahessed by youah size, Conlon?" 

"If yous woynt a goil, I'se soak yous," he let go of her arm, expecting her to run again, but she didn't. 

Instead she took a fighting stance and challenged, "Why don'cha Spot? Yous afraid a goil could beat'cha?"

That was all it took. In an instant they were fighting madly. Frost blocked Spot's frenzied punches, and he quickly slowed and reevaluated the situation. So the girl could fight, he never would have known by watching her try to fend off the Pullvine brothers, but then again that was different. One on one this girl was a worthy opponent.

They circled each other, daring the other to make a move, their blood pumping too quickly for either of them to realize that they were cold. Spot was the first to lunge at Frost, but she quickly dodged his blows and delivered one of her own. A spy little creature she was, but Spot was too and he regained quickly. Grabbing her in a strong headlock, he punched her in the face twice before he released her as her bony elbow jabbed into his thigh. This girl was strong. 

The effect from the blow to his leg was stunning. A shot of pain ran through his whole body and he gritted his teeth against the pain. Frost was recovering from the two strong blows she had received, but she reveled in the effect her hit had taken. Then they were circling again, Spot slightly limping, Frost wiping blood from the corner of her mouth.

This time Frost took to offensive, leaving Spot no option but to defend himself. Blow after skillful blow was blocked with a speed and agility that many would have envied, but Frost finally planted a fist in his gut, causing him to exhale sharply. This gave her the moment of weakness she had been looking for. Launching her fist forward she caught him swiftly across the jaw, and sickly enjoyed the solid crack that was heard. Blood began to trickle out of the corner of his mouth. Without a pause, she struck him again and again until he caught her wrist just as she was about to strike him in the gut.

Swiftly, he twisted her arm behind her back, making it so she was facing him, one of his arms wrapped around her. Quickly, he switched what hands were holding her restricted arm so that the mirror of her held arm was gripping her wrist, making it very painful for her if she struggled. This however left them both in a very compromising situation.

Clouds of white swirled upwards from their mouths as they breathed heavily from the adrenaline of the fight. Frost was pressed up against Spot as he held her arm painfully behind her, his warm breath brushing against her cheek with every exhale. Instinctively, her free arm moved to push him away, but one yank on her held arm and she yelped in pain. It hurt like hell and worse, if he pulled hard enough he could easily dislocate her shoulder.

"Lemme go," she struggled as much as he would allow, trying to find a way to twist out of the position.

'Why?" he taunted. "Yous afraid I'se going ta soak ya?" his full lips tilted upwards in a smile.

"I ain't afraid o' nuttin', 'specially not yous!" she turn her face and spat on the ground, resisting the temptation to spit directly in his face.

"Den why's yous shakin'?" he asked cockily, noting that she turned to spit.

"I always shake aftah a fight," she explained, knowing that there was no use denying her trembling.

"Yous goin' ta tell me whot I wants ta know oah am I'se goin' ta havta make yous?" he was suddenly all business.

"I ain't got nuttin' ta tell," she looked up at him defiantly, only to find that his face was only a few inches away. Yanking her closer still, he put more pressure on her arm and she winced. "Damn ya Spot Conlon, she gasped, trying not to enjoy this closeness of his lean body.

"Who was dat goil?" he growled, doing his best to ignore that his nose was nearly touching hers.

"Whot goil?" she played the fool.

"Da goil dat yous weah talkin' wit'," he clarified. "Who wos she?" he swallowed hard.

"A friend," Frost found it very hard to look away from those eyes as he continued to hold her close. "Can't a goil have friends?" the things that she was feeling made her feel vulnerable, so she used her anger to hide it.

"Not a goil like yous, yous nevah had a friend heah in Brooklyn," he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Yous act like it, but you ain't nevah had one," he studied her astutely. "Whot did yous give her at da end o' youah talk?" he remembered.

"Gawd, it's none o' youah business," she groaned. "Lemme go oah Is'll scream," she threatened, not really wanting him to let her go, even if the way he was holding her caused her pain.

"Yous t'ink dat anyone'll cahah even if anyone's out on dis damn awful weathah?" he posed the question, and she knew he was right.

"I hate yous," she hissed venomously.

"Da feelin' is mutual," he lied giving her arm a yank just to accentuate his point, but his heart twisted when he saw the light of pain flash in her eyes.

"She a goil I knows from Queens," she confessed. "She's da only one dat knows I'se heah in Brooklyn," she admitted when Spot twisted her arm a little more.

"An' whot did yous give her?" he prompted, using all of the years of hate inside of him to fuel the rough treatment he delivered.

"Dat ain't none o' youah -" she drew in a sharp breath when he pulled her arm again. "Yous such a bastahd," she growled, blinking back the tears that surfaced.

"So I'se hoyd, but dat ain't whot I wanna know," he informed. "Whot did yous give her?"

"Can't a goil have a private life 'round heah?" she muttered and Spot's eyes narrowed.

"Not goils like yous," he said bluntly.

"Goils like me?" Frost asked. "Whot's so differ'nt 'bout me?"

"I don' trust yous," he told her.

"Nevah asked ya to," she was strangely saddened that he didn't trust her, but she didn't want to care. "I'se jus' heah ta make some money, den leave," She told him. "I don' cahah whot oder people t'ink."

"Leave? Yous can't go no wheah else in New Yawk," he laughed. "Yous ain't got no wheah else ta go," he said confidently.

"New Yawk ain't da only town dat needs newsies," she answered cryptically. 

"Yous t'inkin' 'bout leavin' New Yawk?" He was stunned, but tried not to show it.

"Why da hell not?" She challenged, looking him in the eyes. "I ain't got no reason to stay 'round heah," she informed, then softened her voice on the next question. "Do I?"

Spot swallowed hard as he looked at her, she was practically begging him to give her a reason to stay. For all he cared, she could go off to Santa Fe with Jack, but that wasn't true. He did care, he cared too much, and he sure wasn't going to tell her that. The closeness of her was wrecking havoc on his senses and he released her arm, stepping back and wiping the frozen blood at the corner of his mouth.

"No I can't t'ink of any reasons foah yous ta stay," he said coldly and she took a step back of her own, fighting him not even on her mind now.

"I can't eider," she whispered and turned to walk away.

"But yous can't leave till yous tell me da rest 'bout youah past," he reminded as she started to walk off. 

"You want my stoahy?" she turned, but kept walking backwards. "Buy me dinnah an' I might tell yous da rest," she bargained.

"But yous said dat yous'll tell me a'eady," he complained.

"But I'se tell a helluva good stoahy when I'se got good food in my belly," she turned and started to walked away. "But if yous don' want a good stoahy, Is'll just tell it to ya on an empty gut," she dropped the bait and he took her.

"Fine, Is'll buy yous dinnah, but yous going ta tell me evahy t'ing," he caught up to her as they reached the end of the alley.

"I ain't got no cash on me so yous really goin' ta havta pay foah me," she turned and looked at him.

"I'se payin' but only if yous ansah da t'ings I wont ansahed," he bargained.

"Is'll tell yous da rest o' my story an' nuttin' else," she said firmly.

"Fine," Spot agreed. "But it bettah be a helluva stoahy, cuz if it ain't yous goin' ta be findin' anodda way ta pay does people," he pointed out and she held out her gloved hand.

"Deal," she said and they shook firmly, then walked together to the nearest and cheapest diner. Spot grumbled the whole way.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

It was in his eleventh year that Spot Conlon was proclaimed the leader of Brooklyn, but he already had been developing quite a reputation. A ruthless bargainer, a cool-eye at the poker table, a fierce fighter, a dead shot with a slingshot, and he had quite a way with the ladies. No doubt that Spot Conlon was ready to take on the world. 

There was a small ceremony, in which all of the newsboys and girls from the various Brooklyn boroughs came and watched the passing of power. It was a strange event with odd solemnity and great reverence as the old leader passed on the rule of the land to the next. The air was hushed on this one spring day as Pike announced his departure from the ranks of the newsies and his intent to transfer the duty of leader to the younger boy. 

With the greatest care, Pike handed Spot the symbol of Brooklyn leaders from years past. Pike had not carried it with him for he had found it a bother, but he had possessed it and cared for it with the highest respect. No one moved as Pike handed off the object of power to the small boy who didn't look a day over eight years old. 

This was the first time Spot had beheld the article that had been talked about in Bunkroom. No matter how many times he had asked Pike to show it to him, he hadn't, and now his wondering was fulfilled. In his hands, Spot now held this legend, and he turned it lovingly in his small fingers.

In his hands, Spot held the gold tipped cane.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//Hate and love are so often confused,

Though they seem complete opposites,

No other two emotions,

Are so completely identical…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

The two entered the first diner they had gone to when Frost had allowed Spot his original question. The same flirty waitress was there and Spot indulged her, testing Frost's reaction. Much to his chagrin, she didn't seem fazed in the least, except for the pure disgust towards his lewd actions. He had been hoping for something more along the lines of jealousy, but he would take what he could get. He let her fawn over him, act motherly about his still swollen nose, and moan about the 'terrible' person who had done that to him. Frost rolled her eyes and drummed her fingers on the table to prove the point of her boredom. 

Food ordered, Spot gripped the glass of water that his waitress friend had given him in both hands and set his gaze firmly on Frost. The game of intimidation was one he was well known for. Though he never professed his ability, he used it a great deal. Eyes slightly narrowed, gaze hard, posture speaking of his power and control, he engaged Frost in his game.

"So yous goin' ta ansah my question now?" he prompted, running the tip of his finger around the edge of his glass.

"I might," she smiled bitterly. "If yous t'ink dat yous can pull youah t'oughts away from dat goil," she jerked her head towards the waitress and Spot smirked in victory. She was jealous. 

"Who?" he teased. "Oh her, she ain't nuttin' but a broad dat got a lil' bit o' me an' can't help but want more," his egotism was almost as appalling as his use of woman.

"T'ank goodness dat dere ah goils out dere dat have bettah sense," Frost muttered, taking a drink of her water.

"I'se yet ta meet one," Spot smiled cockily. "Even da good goils end up wit' me by da end o' da night, sometimes dey stick 'round till moahnin'," he watched with satisfaction as her face blanched slightly before returning to the cool mask he was used to.

"So da rumahs ah true," she said sarcastically. "Yous really ah a man whore," her dark eyes sparkled with a dark mirth and Spot knew that these insult wars and exchanges of wit were something she enjoyed thoroughly.

"I likes ta t'ink o' myself moah as an oppoahtunist," he leaned back against the booth wall, stretching like a big cat. "It ain't my fault dat does goils can't resist me," he added and Frost snorted.

"How much do ya chahge foah a night?" she quipped.

"Why, you wants ta know how much yous'll need ta pay me?" he shot back.

"Nah, just wanted ta see if yous weah ovah chargin'," she said flippantly. "Yous can't get moah dan five bucks a night, right?" she asked.

"Why'd ya say dat?" Spot asked, curious at the low price.

"Yous pro'ly shoytah dan all da ladies," she looked at him slyly and his face turned a little red.

"You ain't no giant youah self," he retorted lamely.

"But I'se a goil, I don' havta be tall," she pointed out. "You'se a boy, you'se s'posed ta be tallah," she smiled inwardly at his barely contained rage, the veins were popping out on the sides of his neck and his jaw was firmly set. He didn't have a smart remark for this and Frost was almost stunned, she always enjoyed a good war of insults, but it wouldn't be any good if your opponent didn't fight back. "Boy you shuah get riled up 'bout dumb t'ings," she informed, rather put off by his lack of opposition. "Yous really get youah dander up when anyone calls ya shoyt, don'cha?" Frost pointed out.

"I ain't shoyt," he denied.

"You ain't shoyt, an' I'se can fly," she laughed.

"Shaddup oah Is'll soak yous," he grumbled.

"Yous a'eady tried dat," she reminded with a smile and enjoyed the scowl that crept onto his face.

"I'se was feelin' nice," he frowned. "I had yous caught," he smirked.

"I coulda got out, I'se was woykin' on a plan," she informed her in a very self-assured manner.

"Shuah," he nodded, and touched the place on his leg where she had elbowed him, it still hurt. "But I ain't heah ta fight 'bout dat," he noted that she had been trying to change the subject. "I'se heah ta get da ansah ta my question," he took a drink of water.

"Yous asked me lotsa questions afore," she said somewhat nervously, and she cleared her throat. "Which one do yous mean?" She stalled.

"Da one bout youah time in New Yawk," he clarified.

"Oh dat," she searched frantically for an answer, but was relieved when the waitress came over to say their food would be out soon, but she really was just wanting to flirt with Spot. Sliding into the booth next to the object of her affection, the girl giggled rapidly and Frost rolled her eyes. It was pathetic, but inwardly she was wondering what it would be like to so openly express her emotions. It had been a long time since she had allowed that.

Spot smiled and flirted right back with the attractive waitress. It was true that she was a pretty girl with nice curves and bouncy red ringlets that glinted like fire in the light. Her features were in good proportion, but for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to find any interest in her. In fact, he couldn't even remember her name. When she leaned in to kiss him, he turned his head away in a playful fashion, rejecting the overt physical gesture.

"Rose Mary!" A voice came from the kitchen and the girl sprang out of the booth. "Get to work!" it was an older man, probably her father, guessing by his equally red curly hair. With one last wink and a blown kiss, the waitress, now label Rose Mary, skipped off to do her duty.

With a fully satisfied grin on his full lips, Spot returned his attention to Frost. Hoping that she would seem irritated, jealous, or show any kind of emotion to show that she was annoyed with the attentions he had paid the other girl. He won no such reward, her expression was as cold as ever. Possibly, that was a good sign since she had reverted into her previously cool mood, not the teasing kind she had been in just a little while ago. Even though it wasn't anything obvious, it was enough to give Spot the slightest twinge of hope.

"Now wheah weah we?" Spot folded his hands and set them on the table, smiling expectantly. 

"You knows just wheah we'se weah," she said coldly, setting her jaw and refusing to meet his eyes.

"Oh yeah, yous weah jus' 'bout ta tell me how much ya likes me," he tempted arrogantly, and he could have sworn that her jaw had dropped, at least just a little.

"In youah dreams Conlon," she set her face in a steely pose and glared defiantly at him.

"Whot 'bout youah dreams?" he prodded, playing off of her phrase. "I'se whot yous dream 'bout ain't I?" he smiled boyishly, tilting his head to one side, coming dangerously close to flirting with her.

"I don' know whot yous talkin' 'bout," she denied smoothly, forcing down the heat that she felt rising to her cheeks.

"It's 'kay dat yous dream 'bout me," he leaned back in his seat, and put his hands behind his head. "Most goils do," he winked at her rakishly and she pursed her lips firmly.

"I - ain't - most - goils," she ground out through clenched teeth, aggravated by the sudden turn of conversation.

"No, no you ain't most goils ah yous?" Spot unclasped his hands and lowered them to his sides. Raising one hand to his chin, he studied her with great care and Frost had to use all of her control not to squirm or spill her glass of water all over him. "Yous made it cleah dat yous ain't like most goils," he repeated continuing to study her. "I s'pose dat yous pro'ly don' just dream 'bout me," as smile played on the corners of his mouth. "Yous pro'ly t'inkin' 'bout me durin' da day too."

"I don't know whot yous talkin' 'bout," she said coolly, her hands firmly clasped in tight fists on her lap. "When I'se t'ink 'bout da opposite sex, I likes ta t'ink 'bout ones dat ah tallah dan da countah at da distribution office," she took a sip of her water as she put on the airs of a social lady, but remained in her street accent.

"I'se can see ovah da countah," he defended his wounded pride. _One moah joke 'bout my height an' dis goil will be findin' a differ'nt way ta pay foah her dinnah,_ he thought bitterly.

"I guess yous can," she shrugged and set down her glass. "My mistake."

Thus started the staring, or rather, glaring of the two. It was intense as Spot used his intimidation to try to get Frost to back down, but she didn't waver. The noises of the busy diner were lost on the two as they confronted each other on a completely different plane than words. Tension ran thick, but it wasn't just the anger that coursed through their veins. The zeal of their rage translated into passion as it filled their cool bodies with heat even though neither was touching each other. If they hadn't been sitting opposite of each other at a table, there was no telling what conclusion could have been reached. Either they would have beaten the other to a bloody pulp, or ended up in each other's arms. Which it would have been, neither one would ever find out because Rose Mary came out with their food.

The bubbly red-headed waitress was completely oblivious to the intense encounter the two were sharing and she set the bowl of steaming soup in front of Frost, giving her a cold glare before turning to Spot. He had ordered a large sandwich and she smiled sweetly as he looked up at her, startled by the suddenness of her appearance. Taking full advantage of his upturned face, Rose Mary leaned over and placed a hard but short kiss to his mouth before turning and nearly skipping back to the kitchen. 

Stunned wouldn't have been the best word to express Spot's reaction, because Rose Mary had kissed him before and most likely would do it again, but the fact that she did it in front of Frost disturbed him. Though he wasn't one to let things like this bother him, so playing to situation to his advantage, he created his well-known smirk and turned back to Frost.

"Told ya," he smiled knowingly. "Da ladies jus' can't get enough o' me," he found secret pleasure in the groaning noise she made.

"Youah disgustin'," she stirred her soup with the spoon she had been provided.

"An' dats why yous kissed me," he reminded her and she glared at him.

"We'se been ovah dis," she raised the spoon out of the soup and shook it at him slightly. "I kissed ya ta get away," she smirked slightly. "An' it woyked."

"Dat ain't da kiss I'se talkin' 'bout," he told her taking a large bit of his sandwich as she ate a hearty spoon-full of her piping hot soup. "I'se talkin' 'bout da one aftah dat," he spoke as he chewed, then swallowed heavily. "I'se talkin' 'bout da one on da bridge, yous kissed me."

"No yous kissed me," she shook her head, correcting him.

"But yous lemme kiss yous," he reminded. "An' den yous kissed me back," he watched her roll her eyes. "An' I wanna knows why," he took another bite and waited.

"I don' havta tell yous nuttin'," she kept her air aloof.

"So dere is somet'ing ta tell?" he caught her slip and she nearly choked on her soup.

"No," she coughed, hitting a fist to her chest to clear out the poorly swallowed soup.

"So dere ain't nuttin' ta tell, but dere is somet'ing ta tell, oah else yous wouldn't say dat yous didn' have ta tell me nuttin' cause dere ain't anyt'ing ta tell, but dere's gotta be somet'ing cause you don' havta tell it ta me," he took a deep breath and Frost gave him a curious look.

"Whot in da hell?" she asked, her face contorted in confusion and disbelief.

"Dere is somet'ing oah else ya wouldn't have ta say ya didn' havta tell me nuttin'," Spot spoke slowly, trying himself to make sense of his previous run-on sentence.

"Why does it mattah so much to yous?" She spouted, aggravated at her confusion. "It ain't like we'se cahah 'bout each oder," she continued. "Hell, we don' even likes each oder," she pointed out the absurdity of the situation.

"Yeah," Spot echoed. "We'se hate each oder," he affirmed and she nodded her head. "I don' know why I'se even said any t'ing," he took another bite of his sandwich and she turned her attention to her soup. They finished the rest of the meal in silence, neither one really having much of an appetite as the words they had spoken left a foul taste in there mouth, and a cold feeling in their stomachs.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//It has been found,

That the best friend,

Makes the worst enemy,

But what makes a best friend…?//

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

No one challenged the new authority of their newly risen leader. No on had the courage to. Standing less than five foot, Spot Conlon already had mastered the art of intimidation. The tiny boy sold more papers a day than anyone in Brooklyn did, and for that matter, he sold more than anyone in all of New York did. It wasn't until he went to his first territory meeting in Manhattan that he met with his first opposition.

He had heard of the cocky selling boy, named Jack Kelly, the one that boasted he was better than he was. The fact that he boasted didn't bother Spot as much as the fact that he made fun of his size. It could be said that Spot Conlon was afflicted with the Napoleon complex. It was about time that he set the record straight with this Cowboy, there was only room enough for one pompous, over-confident, newsie, and that was he.

Brandishing his cane and his slingshot, Brooklyn's trademarks, he strutted to the upper-east side Manhattan lodging house. When he arrived, an older man who he would later find to be Kloppman waved him upstairs, muttering a few words. Swaggering up the stairs with all of his well-mustered confidence, eleven-year-old Spot Conlon came face to face with a taller boy with piercing gray eyes. A red bandana was tied loosely around his thin neck and a dusty black cowboy hat hung on his back.

"Cowboy," he spit in his hand and extended it, sizing up the boy even as they spoke, and the boy smiled amiably, returning the favor. 

"Spot," he shook his hand firmly, then withdrew, stepping back and opening to the side to show a circle of boys all seated around a wooden crate. "Dis heah is Jestah from Harlem, Hook from da Bronx, Brink from Queens, an' Pipah from da lowah East Side," he finished introductions with his fellow Manhattan leader. "Boys, dis heah is da new leadah from Brooklyn," he slapped Spot's chest with the back of his hand. "Spot," he laughed after he said the name and Spot didn't like the sound of it, but he took a seat around the circle and waited.

"Yous all play pokah?" Spot asked, eyeing the cards on the crate.

"O' coyse," Brink snorted. "Dats all we evah do at dese meetin's," he grumbled and Jack reached for the stack. Seven-card stud was the game of choice and Spot didn't have any complaints until the middle of the game. Jack was the dealer and Spot watched him closely as he passed out cards to each of those around the table.

"Yous took dat cahd from da bottom o' da pile!" Spot exclaimed as Jack gave himself a card.

"No I'se didn'," Jack acted offended.

"Yes yous did," Spot insisted. "I'se saw yous," they were both standing now. 

"Yous callin' me a liah?" Jack straightened to his full height of five foot five and sized off with the smaller leader.

"I'se callin' you dat an' a doity cheat," Spot retorted.

"Yous take dat back oah I'se goin' ta soak yous," Jack growled and all the other leaders started to take bets on who would win, no one betted in Spot's favor. Thinking for a moment, but not able to think of a better retort than his primary instinct to fight, Spot balled his fist and before Jack could react, the tiny Brooklyn leader had punched him.

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"Look heah Spot, I'se not goin' ta tell ya nuttin' tanight, I'se too tiahd. Can't dis wait till anodda night?" Frost complained as he held her by the arm, dragging her back to the lodging house.

"No, I'se gettin' whot I wont an I'se wont my ansah!" he exclaimed.

"But I'se gotta sell papes tamarra an I really don' feel like sneakin' 'round tanight," she tried to sway him to see her side. "Tanight we'se can jus' go ta bed, be full an' wahm an' Is'll tell yous a bed time stoahy anodda time," she was practically begging, she didn't want to tell him about Manhattan, or Queens, or even Stanton for that matter.

"I'se bought yous dinnah an' yous goin' ta tell me whot I wants ta know," he insisted, almost as repetitive as a broken record.

"Gawd you are frustratin'," She moaned. 

"I'se hoyd dat afore," he looked at her and smiled in his irritating fashion.

"Ya know yous don' havta hold my ahm, I ain't goin' no wheah," she jerked her arm and he let her go, true to her word, she didn't run, but kept on towards the lodging house.

"Yous can staht tellin' me youah stoahy as we'se walk," Spot prompted, and Frost shot his a venomous glance.

"An' whot if I'se don' feel like it?" She asked.

"I nevah asked if yous felt like it," he smiled sourly. "I told ya ta do somet'ing an' yous goin' ta do it," he saw the defiance flash in her dark eyes and a wave of victory crashed over him. 

"Has I evah told yous dat yous a bastahd?" she asked for about the fifteenth time that night, and Spot now almost found it comical.

"Only yous," he replied and she started muttering under her breath. "Whot yous sayin'?" he asked, bending to peer at her lowered head as they walked.

"I wos damnin' yous ta hell, do ya mind? Yous interruptin'," she looked up at him and his and her fore heads bumps. 

"Ow!" they said simultaneously.

"Why'd ya do dat Conlon?" Frost protested, her gloved hand rubbing the sore place on her head.

"Me? I didn' do nuttin'!" he retorted, then muttered, "Yous da one wit' a hahd head."

"I ain't got a hahd head!" She stopped walking and faced him. "Yous da one dat jus' hadta know whot I'se doin'," he stopped turned toward her.

"An' it's my fault dat yous jus' happen ta look up when I'se tryin' ta look down at yous?" Spot pointed out.

"Damn right it is," she cursed.

"Whot?" Spot couldn't believe her reasoning.

"Yous such a bastahd," she muttered and started walking but Spot grabbed her by both shoulders and kept her from moving.

"Wait, I ain't done," he commanded and she jerked back from him.

"Don' tell me whot ta do," she hissed. "I'se goin' back ta da lodgin' house befoah I freeze my ass off," she blew hot air into her fists and turned to move again, but Spot caught her.

"Don't yous walk away from me," he growled menacingly.

"Why not, I'se can go to da lodging house if I'se want ta," she looked down at her arm where he held her, his hand wrapped all the way around her arm, coat and all. For being so small, he had big hands.

"Yous can when I'se done wit' yous," Spot told her.

"Yous can't jus' ohdah me 'round like I'se youah slave," she spat.

"I'se Spot Conlon, I'se can do whot evah I'se wanna do, an' I wants yous ta stay heah till I'se done wit'choo," he commanded and her eyes flashed dark fire.

"I don' cahah if yous da president o' da damn United States!" she yelled. "I ain't stayin' heah an _you_ can't make me stay," she tried to yank her arm out of his hold but found it firm.

"Is dat a challenge?" he growled.

"If yous want it ta be it is," she said haughtily.

"Den I'se accept," he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tightly. 

"Shit!" he heard her mutter as she pressed against his chest, struggling as hard as she could before she looked up at his face and realized just how close she really was to him. 

Their noses were almost touching, their breath heading up in clouds towards the heavens. Time seemed to freeze around them as the frigid air suddenly was as cold anymore. The soul intention of taking her in his arms had been to restrain her, but now Spot was cursing his plan as he stared down into her midnight black eyes. He was aware that she had stopped trying to get away and was simply looking back up at him, the whole world reflecting in her expression. It was then that he realized that he was holding his breath, unsure of what to do, he simply stood there.

"Frost," Spot breathed. "I…" he drifted off, not sure what he wanted to say.

"Yes?" She looked up expectantly.

"Frost I -" he started again, but a foul voice infiltrated their perfect world.

"Well, well, well, looky whot we'se got heah, boys," Spot heard and jerked his head away without kissing Frost. "A couple o' love boyds," Spot identified the voice as that of Charlie Pullvine and he swore vilely.

Letting go of the girl, he saw that Chester and Caleb were both closing in, forming a triangle of sorts around the pair. It wasn't looking good for them.

"Get outta here," Spot hissed to her.

"Whot? Spot, no!" she watched with horror as the three approached and Spot readied himself to fight. "Yous can't take dem alone, dey'll kill you," she spoke rapidly, time for escape was limited.

"Yeah, well I ain't got nuttin' ta life foah, now get outta heah!" he replied, his back now facing her as he squared off with one of the Pullvines.

"But-" she started.

"Just go!" he yelled, turning his head slightly to see if she left, and he was strangely saddened to see her making moves towards escape. Carefully and quickly she calculated her route of escape and the flew through the gap between Chester and Caleb. The slow goons didn't have the reaction time to catch her, and Charlie waved them off of her. 

"We'se can get her latah, when she ain't got no bodyguard," he motioned to the boy they were now circling. 

"Yous want dat goil?" Spot asked, not letting his fear show. "Whot foah? She can't cook, an' lemme tell you whot, she is bad in bed," he added suggestively. 

"Well ya know it ain't like dat no moah, _Dot_," Charlie mislabeled the boy purposefully. "Now it's poysonal," he motioned to Caleb and Chester to move in.

"An' it's poysonal against me?" Spot asked, trying to figure the best way to fend off his attackers.

"Nah, not so much," Charlie watched with glee as his brothers approached. "We'se jus' don' like yous."

That was the end of the conversation, because the first blows began to be delivered. Strangely though, through the fighting, all Spot could think of was how he hoped that Frost had gotten back to the lodging house safely.

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The cold air burned her lungs as her feet pounded the frozen earth. It was much like the first night she had arrived at the lodging house, except this time she didn't run for herself, she ran for someone else. An idea that she had hoped wouldn't come true for her days in Brooklyn. Pushing through the door, she starting yelling at the top of her lungs before she even got inside.

"Get down heah!" She cried. "Spot needs help!"

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A/N: Sorry for the major delay of this chapter. I apologize but some circumstances beyond my control kept me from updating even though I had it written. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! Don't hate me forever! But you wanna know something that I found out about people on Fanfiction.net? Sometimes, they don't review something when they read it! I didn't even think about ever doing that. I am that annoying person that reviews everything I read. I figure, if I bother to read the story, and if they bother to post it, why the heck not? Anyway, maybe I am just stupid. But guess what! My reader count is up! I think I actually have... . : * Pauses and counts each person on her fingers * : . 5 people reading this story! . : * Cries * : . This is the happiest moment in my life! Er… maybe not quite, but I do have 21 whole freaking reviews which is big for me. . : * glows * : . But I am going to shut up now and do shout outs.

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Ali: Ha, ha, so you like my story? Thank you so very much! . : * Glows * : . Well I like your leadership story… so you need to update it since I undated this one, okay? Okay, now that we have an understanding, I definitely agree with you that Spot is gorgeous. He is _very_ gorgeous. . : * drools * : . The strange thing is that Gabriel Damon really isn't that cute in any other movie, but in Newsies he is smoldering. Thanks for the review, take care. ^_^

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Kaylee: Yep, this goes right along with **Blind Spot**. This actually goes before it, but I am writing them at the same time and I am also writing it so that it can be read separately, but you get a lot more out one if you read the other. Well, you didn't find out what happened to Jack in this part, but you might find out soon….

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Silent Breeze: Congratulations, you have given me the longest review I have ever gotten up till this point in time. ^_^ It made me laugh so hard as I sat there in my little computer chair and read it. I am like the A + essays? Okay, I will have to take your word for it because I am home schooled. ^_^ You started falling for Coin? Well, gosh, that is different. I didn't ever really think about anyone falling for him, I mean with Spot being so fine… but he is non-existent too! Well in the sense that we know him, Spot Conlon was real, but not how we know him. Aw… don't burn your writing, keep it so when you get better you will be able to see how far you've come. ^_^ Go ahead and tell your friends about this story, ha, ha I can always use another critical reviewer… oh wait… I don't have any critical reviewer darn it! I want one! I'll take the flowers, but the chocolate I will do without, I need to keep my 'girlish figure' you know. ^_^ Well, thanks for your review and possibly you will be kind and review this chapter as well?

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Ireland O'Reily: Have I ever told you that I love you? Well I do and I love your faithful reviews and I am just completely thankful for you. ^_^ I think the reliving of the story makes it more real and I can be more detailed and make it more interesting for the reader. I personally like how I made it so she had to tell Spot and she didn't just tell him on her own free will, but that is just me. Anyway, I will have to see about the prequel to the prequel, mainly because I just need to finish **Blind Spot **and this story before I even think about tackling another series. I don't know if it would ruin the whole character of Frost or what, but hey… right now I just have to focus on these two babies. Take care. ^_^

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Fearless: Wow, I have someone who likes me! . : * Glows * : . I am so happy. Well, there was your little update, take care.

All right, that is it for shout outs. Take care, and have a great week!


	8. Only so Obvious

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: Well this chapter is short, but at least it is here. I know, I know, bad me, but I felt that I would post it so that you all would know what happened to our poor little Spot. Now I will jut think of another way to put you guys on another cliffhanger, hmm…. . : * Goes into deep thought * : . Aren't I just the meanest person ever? Ha, ha, well this update is a whole day early so love me! Even if it is short, love me! 

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Warning: This chapter is PG - 13 for violence and mild swearing, I almost kept it at a PG, but I don't think it is quite that mild….

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Chapter 7: Only so Obvious

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//Whoever said,

Violence isn't the answer,

Never lived,

On the streets of New York…//

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The fighting started with an unfair blow from behind, and Spot staggered under the weigh of Chester's fist. After the first dozen blows, Spot lost count as he fought valiantly against the three brothers, trading them blow for blow. Even though loss was more than likely, Spot wasn't going to go without a fight, it wasn't in him. Through the pain of six fists beating him, Spot somehow managed to remain standing, fending them off as well as he could. Soon all he was doing was blocking the punches when he could. 

Everything was a blur from the pain. Spot couldn't focus on anything besides surviving. The food that he had just eaten was threatening to erupt as his stomach cramped from the blows. The next thing he remembered was someone grabbing him from behind, restricting his arms. Looking up, he saw the evil glint of brass knuckles flashing in the dark. The next thing he remembered was the sickening crunch of his ribs from a devastating blow. Then, one right across the face and he felt his skin split across the cheekbone. 

Blow after mighty blow, Spot endured this torture without letting out a sound, but once when his attacker was close enough, he launched out his foot, aiming to simply hit him. His aim was dead on for that goal coming in firm contact with Caleb's groin. A loud moan let him know that he had been accurate, but in the next few moments he wondered it if was worth it. Charlie, angered at his brother's mishap, retrieved his own brass knuckles and released his fury on poor Spot. 

He was dangerously close to passing out when there was the sound of several running feet raised his bobbing head. Then he was dropped on the cold ground, the Pullvines retreating into the night. The group that had been coming towards them wasn't the bulls like he suspected, but a group of his own comrades. Gasping, through the pain, Spot managed to sit up, then attempt to stand when someone was beside him lifting his arm over their shoulders and helping him stand. It was Frost.

Opening his eyes, he saw her. Though his vision was clouded and everything he heard sounded like it was coming from the end of a tunnel, he knew it was she. Just her presence seemed to make some of the pain recede and he was glad to have her there.

"Look at dis mess yous gotten youah self inta," she joked as they stood and Spot tried to smile, but his face hurt too much. "Gawd yous look awful," she pointed out, but Spot didn't have the energy to argue. 

As some of his comrades chased after the Pullvines, some walked back with Frost and Spot to the lodging house. Helping the girl shoulder Spot and making their way through the cold of the winter. Spot knew that he had been sore before he had fought the Pullvines, because of Frost, but now he was beyond just sore, he was in extreme pain. By the time they reached the lodging house, Spot was barely able to walk, but he refused to be carried, no one carried Spot Conlon. 

"Oh my goodness!" he heard someone exclaim. "What happened to him?" A girlish voice asked and he knew it had to be the lodging house owner's daughter, Emily.

"A fight," Frost informed. "Ya wanna make youah self useful an' find us some bandages?" She asked tersely and Spot watched with blurred vision as the raven-haired girl scurry off.

"Come on," Frost urged. "Dis way," she led him to the stairs and painfully, one step at a time, they ascended. It was a painstaking escapade, and every movement hurt, but Spot managed somehow. At the top, he had to pause and catch his breath, trying to stop the world from spinning so fast around him. 

"Yous a'ight?" Frost asked, and he opened his eyes to see her face close to his, and even through his blurred sight, he could see her concern. Unable to make good use of his bruised, cracked, split lips, Spot just nodded. "A'ight you bums!" he heard Frost's voice ring out. "Get dis man on a bed now!" she slipped out from under his arm and Spot felt himself being led to a bed and he laid down.

It felt indescribably good to lay down and Spot sighed as deeply as his broken ribs would allow. This wasn't his first encounter with a fight like this one, but he had always been able to get away before. The last time he was beaten this badly was the night of the fire…. At that thought, he quickly changed subjects in his mind until he heard Frost's voice again.

"Heya Spot, ya in dere?" she asked and he opened his swelling eyes in response. "Good," she sounded all-business. "Now I'se goin' ta try a couple t'ings an' yous goin' ta tell me if dey hoyt," she pressed on his ribs and got a satisfying hiss from her patient. "Broken," she said without emotion. "A'ight all yous, help me gets dese clothes offa him, I'se gotta wrap his ribs," she announced and several pairs of strong hands lifted Spot into a sitting position and he tried to talk but Frost told him to be quiet. The idea of be stripped down wasn't too appealing, considering that he was freezing. 

Following Frost's command, his coat was removed, then his suspenders and when he felt his shirt being unbuttoned, he struggled a little not wanting Frost to see his scars. The horrible disfiguring marks covered his arms, most of them weren't that large, but they were ugly. The struggle however was futile, as Frost's soft voice assured him that everything would be fine. If they didn't set his ribs now he would hurt a lot more. So he allowed himself to be comforted by Frost, allowing himself to believe that she wouldn't notice the scars. 

The idea, as strange as it seems was very unsettling to Spot. He didn't want comfort, and he most certainly didn't want it from that girl! Clamping his mouth shut, he bit his tongue until he drew blood, fighting back the noises of pain he wished to make for the terrible jarring of his broken body. Every slight movement hurt now as they removed his shirt and began unbuttoning his long johns. 

Opening his eyes, he made out Ghost, Fire and Outsider were the ones helping Frost as she sat on a stool beside his bed. Emily, the lodging house girl, was standing close in attendance with a wooden box in hand. On top of that wooden box was a pile of something white, if his vision would have been clearer he would have know they were strips of linen. Reaching up, Frost, took on of those strips and began wrapping it firmly around Spot's torso. He hadn't seen her reaction to his scars, but maybe she wasn't paying attention to them anyway.

"Gawd," he hissed in pain as she yanked it tighter. "I t'ink dat yous like ta hoyt me," he mumbled through his swollen lips and she pulled the cloth an extra time.

"Be quiet," she commanded and he said nothing more as she began to tie around him. When she was quiet done inflicting pain on her patient, she began to redress him. Slowly, ever so slowly, then Ghost lay him back down on his bed. "Do yous have any carbolic acid?" Frost asked, and Spot wondered what that was. Though his eyes were closed, he listened carefully, using his hearing to know what was happening. 

The sound of something heavy being set on the floor was all he heard. Then a click of something opening and the sound of clinking glass bottles. If he had been able to see, he would have seen Emily kneeling and setting down the heavy wooden box she had been holding, opening it, and sorting through it. 

"Here," Emily handed Frost a small bottle and Emily took another piece of linen. Popping open the bottle, a sour smell filled the room, but she doused the rag with the smelly substance, dying the cloth a sickening yellow. Then she swabbed it over the open cuts on Spot face. It stung like fire in his wounds and Spot grimaced, not expecting the treatment.

"Whot's dat do?" Outsider asked.

"It clean out da cuts so he won't get no infections," she clarified, tucking her gold cross necklace back into her shirt as it had slipped out.

"Do it always stain youah skin like dat?" Ghost asked in disgust and Spot's eyes flew open.

"Don' woahy," She said, noticing Spot's reaction to this. "Da colah goes away," she said calmly and Spot closed his eyes again. Even with just the rapid movement of his eyelids, his whole face ached. When he was better, he would get those Pullvines for what they had done.

"Doe's bruises ah goin' ta match his nose," her heard Outsider snicker and the other boys joined in his merriment. Outraged, he tried to sit up, but Frost's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Deys right ya know," she whispered. "But don' woahy, it'll go away jus' like da color," she brushed his hair back off of his forehead as she cleaned a few cuts up there. 

The sensation of her small fingers brushing through his hair sent a strange tingling sensation all through Spot's body and he opened his eyes to watch her work. Even though he couldn't see that clearly, and even though it hurt to have them open, he watched her. Finally, she looked at his eyes and saw him watching her and a change came over her face. A softening I guess you could say, like part of the icy exterior had melted by simply looking into his eyes. 

"T'anks," he mumbled and she gently placed her index finger onto his busted lips.

"Be quiet," she ordered and he was. "Now go ta sleep," she added and with one final look at her, he let his eyes drift shut. During this time, the boys had stopped laughing and were simply watching the tender exchange. 

Then a revelation struck them. Their leader, the fearless Spot Conlon was in love with this girl, and she loved him too. It was painfully obviously and almost embarrassing for the trio of boys and the shy quiet girl to watch. So silently, the three exited, and Emily left the medical chest in the room behind her. Neither Spot nor Frost noticed them leave.

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The brawl between the two boys ended up with Brooklyn on top of Manhattan, beating in his face with his tiny fist until he begged for mercy. When he final did beg, and beg he did, Spot showed some mercy and stopped. The battered Manhattan and the bruised Brooklyn returned to the poker table without another word. 

Something had happened in those moments of fighting, something that would last for as long as the relationship between Spot Conlon and Cowboy Sullivan lasted. The establishment of supremacy had been set in front of all of the leaders. Though small, this new leader was someone to be reckoned with, and not someone to cross. When they were both settled back at the table, the tiny Brooklyn leader looked around the table, picked up part of his hand, and asked the simple question:

"Now wheah weah we'se?"

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//So take me and break me,

And make me strong like you

I'll be forever grateful,

To this and you…//

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Two days past before Frost would even let Spot out of bed, not that Spot minded. Every movement he made, he body would yell in protest, but he was the leader of Brooklyn and leaders didn't take days off. Frost wasn't the only female that mothered him, Emily, the lodging house owner's daughter would feed him mush once a day unknown to anyone else. It was strange to think that she would do this for Spot had never really said more than fifty words to her. Maybe Frost was paying her.

By the day after the fight, his vision had cleared but his eyes were swollen. Reports of those that had gone after the Pullvines said that they had 'fixed them good'. Whatever that meant, it didn't matter how 'good' they had 'fixed' the, Spot was going to 'fix' them better. On the second day, he managed to stand and walk by himself, but Frost was sure to monitor the steps that he took. 

The bandages that she had applied were changed and the ones around his ribs were tightened. Spot hated that part. It was nearly pure torture, the pressure on his cracked, broken, and bruised ribs was comforting while it was there, but when it was being initially applied it hurt like hell. He was sure Frost did it just to hurt him. 

During the day when everyone was gone, he would sleep. The sleep did him good and helped to heal him faster, but he didn't want to take any more than two days off of working. That wasn't the reputation he had worked so hard to attain, but when he brought it up to Frost on the end of the second night she exploded.

"Yous t'ink dats yous goin' ta sell papes tamarra?" She exclaimed.

"I don' t'ink it, I knows it," he insisted through swollen lips.

"Yous can bahly talk, how's yous goin' ta sell papes?" She crossed her arms across her chest.

"Is'll talk bettah tamarra," he said matter-of-factly. "I'se talkin' bettah taday dan I'se did yestahday," he reminded.

"Dat don' mean dat yous goin' ta be ready ta sell papes by tamarra," she told him. "Yous stayin' heah," she ordered and he shook his head, as he lay back down on his bed.

"Ain't goin' ta happen," he said. "I needs dat money an' you ain't goin' ta stop me," he closed his swollen eyes, he had them open to long and now they felt like they were burning. "Sides, my bruises'll help sell me papes fastah," he tried to smirk, but it came across more as a grimace.

"Youah face right now ain't goin' ta do nuttin' but scahah away youah customahs," she grumbled and Spot chuckled throatily.

"I knows yous jealous o' me good looks, but dat ain't no reason ta be like dat," he joked and he smiled inwardly when he heard her growl.

"Fine, yous can sell tamarra, but I'se goin' ta sell wit'choo," she informed. "You ain't goin' ta cahahy all doe's papes an hoyt youah self moah," she clarified.

"Oh yeah, an' who's made yous a doctah?" Spot turned his head to look at her as she sat on the bed beside him, but she was now standing.

"Dat yous'll nevah know," she said firmly and walked away, leaving Spot with only more questions.

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//Fix me to a chain,

Around your neck,

And wear me,

Like a key…//

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True to his word, Spot got up the next day with the rest of the boys and girls and went down to the distribution office. There is nothing quite like the biting cold to bring out the intense pain of your body. Every last nerve screamed in agony with every step he took, but Spot bit back the complaints and headed onward. 

True to her word, Frost stayed with Spot all day. Carrying their papes around, barely letting him carry more than two at a time. Every time he would try to do something, she would do it for him, not allowing him to bend over or even turn from side to side.

"Look, I'se fine," Spot finally complained, annoyed.

"Has you looked in a mirrah lately?" She retorted. "You ain't fine," she stood with arms akimbo.

"Jus' cause da mirrah don' show me noymal lovely self don' mean dat I ain't fine," Spot shot back and Frost looked at him skeptically. Taking a stack of about twenty papers, she threw them at him and he tried to catch them.

As they slammed against the front of his rib cage, he let out a nasty hiss of air and nearly doubled over. Though he managed to keep a hold on the papers, it was clear that she had made her point. Casting her as evil a glare as he could through the smears of blue, black, and purple around his strange eyes, Spot tried to straighten with as much dignity as one about to collapse could.

"Yous goin' ta pay foah dat," he threatened.

"Oh I'se can't wait," she feigned fear, then her act seemed to change into something very real. "Shit," she muttered and ducked her head, looking around at her feet.

"Whot?" Spot asked, confused at her behavior. 

"Um, just a second," she took the stack of papers in her arms and handed them to him. "Is'll be right back," with that she ran off, melting into the crowd and Spot was completely confused.

"Whot in da hell…" he muttered and turned away from the place she disappeared and was about to start yelling out the headline when a boy dressed in ragged clothes and an eye-patch came up to him.

"That girl that was just with you, do you know who that was?" the boy asked, and Spot shrugged, sensing that this was probably someone that Frost didn't want to deal with. The eye patch wasn't too odd, but the fact that Spot had never seen this boy in this area before was. The non-New York accent was a dead give away that this boy wasn't native.

"Nope," Spot lied glibly. "Buy a pape?" He asked and the boy looked back at him blankly, blinking his one uncovered eye that was as dark as night. 

"So you don't know that girl" he asked and Spot shook his head again, offering him a pape. "I already have a paper," The boy informed and looked around the crowd again. "But if you see that girl again, tell her than she won't get away from me that easily next time," Spot was confused by his words, but didn't say anything else as the boy melted into the crowd.

Spot expected Frost to return, but she didn't, and he was left alone for the remainder of the selling day. When he was too tired and too sore to continue, he dropped the papers into the snow and started back towards the lodging house. He had some questions that needed to be answered and Frost was the only one that could answer them.

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//I am here,

For you to use,

Broken and bruised,

Do you understand…?//

****

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The poker game was followed by another, and then another until the leader from the Lower East Side of Manhattan bowed out, saying that he had other business to attend to. It was the Bronx that folded next, then Queens, soon it was down to just Manhattan and Brooklyn. In the end it was Brooklyn who ended the last game triumphant. The victory re-instated the example of supremacy that had been set in the fight, but the Cowboy didn't seem to mind.

An easy-going fellow this Cowboy was. Much different than the cold leader of Brooklyn, but there was an understanding that passed between the two that day. Even though the relationship started off on the rocks, a strange respect, or even friendship started that day. Though neither would ever admit to being the best of friends, both would form a strong allegiance that would stand the test of time. 

So these good relations between Brooklyn and Manhattan began with a fight. Ironic as it seems, it is the truth. The feud ended in peace and so it would stand for the rest of the leadership of Cowboy Sullivan and Spot Conlon.

****

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Back at the lodging house, Spot didn't find Frost, but he was too tired and sore to do anything about it now. His ribs ached more than anything else did. The cold had seeped in through his thin coat and made them hurt more than before. Lying down on his bunk for the time being, Spot closed his sore eyes. Since his fight, he had taken a lower bunk, finding it too hard to climb to the top for now. By tomorrow night, he promised to himself, he would have the upper bed back.

Sighing, he listened to the noises swirling around him. A throbbing headache from the constant pain had developed in his temples and the relaxing was helping. As the voices and sounds of the room lulled him to sleep, the warmth loosened the tightened muscles of the day. Even though he was feeling better, something was missing. He wasn't sure what and he didn't want to know, because something in his deepest thoughts told him that he didn't want to know.

Sighing, he knew that he could sleep now. It wasn't time to sleep, but the short rest had done him good even though his body protested when he forced it up into a sitting position. Outsider was the first of the group to notice that their leader was awake and moving. Heading over in that direction, Outsider marched over with purpose and Spot turned his battered face in the direction of a greeting.

"Heya Spot," Outsider moved to sit across from him on the bunks. "Can I'se talk ta yous foah a lil'?" He asked and Spot shrugged his shoulder, wincing at the movement. "I can?" Outsider asked, a little more skittish than normal.

"Yeah," Spot mumbled through his swollen lips, annoyed at his friend's unusual attitude.

"It's 'bout Frost," Outsider started tentatively, and even though the bruises and swelling, Outsider could see the immediate attention spring into his friend's eyes. "I'se not shuah I'se trust her," he said heavily and Spot calculated him coolly, but Outsider was used to this treatment. When addressed in such a fashion, Spot Conlon always weighed his words before he spoke.

"Whot's not ta trust?" Spot inquired, testing if his friend had information that he didn't.

"I'se not shuah Spot, dere's jus' somet'ing 'bout her an' her eyes," Outsider paused as if to ponder his own words. "Has yous evah looked at her eyes?" He asked suddenly. "De's blackah dan Boots'!" He exclaimed, referring to the Negro newsie in Manhattan.

"An' her eyes makes it so yous can't trust her?" Spot prompted, trying to keep on subject.

"No… it ain't dat…" Outsider drifted.

"Den whot?" Spot asked, annoyed.

"I'se got reasons ta believe dat dis is da goil is da Spectah o' Queens," Outsider dropped his voice to a stage whisper and Spot nearly erupted laughing, but through years of controlling his emotions, he didn't. 

"Is dat so," Spot paused, pretending to think. "An' whot's yous got dat says dat?" Spot asked, genuinely curious.

"Last night, when dat goil walked away an' yous talked ta Frost, I'se had one o' da boys follow dat goil," Outsider admitted. "An' she went straight ta Queens an' when da boy caught her, she said dat she wos jus' talkin' ta _Spectah,_" Outsider stressed the different name.

"Do ya see Frost any wheah 'round heah?" Spot asked, motioned with his hand to the room around him, careful not to move it too far.

"No," Outsider said. 

"Den when yous do see her, tell her dat I needs ta talk ta her," Spot said calmly and Outsider looked at him skeptically.

"Whot ah yous goin' ta talk wit' her 'bout?" The co-leader asked.

"Is'll talk ta her 'bout whot I want," Spot shot back as forcefully as he could with his sore mouth. 

"Fine," Grumbled Outsider. 

What did his friend think? That he hadn't seen what had gone on between him and Frost that first night after the Pullvines attacked? Of course he had, so had Fire and Ghost. They all knew that there were sparks flying between the two, and there was no denying it. At least on their part, but Spot could deny it all he wanted, so could this Frost girl, if that was even her name. Everyone knew that there was something going on between the two, three of the boys knew for sure, everyone seemed to know except the two it involved. Sighing deeply, he stood and left his friend alone on his temporary bunk.

__

Doe's two ah so stubbahn dat dey pro'ly wouldn't know dey weah in love if it hit dem in da face, he thought cynically as he walked away.

****

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Frost hadn't gone back to the lodging house, she figured that was where he would go next. If that had been who she thought it was, she was in deeper trouble than she could imagine. How had he managed to find her after all of this time? There was no way that he had found her, she was someone completely different now than she had been three years ago. Maybe he had just wanted to buy a paper, maybe it wasn't who she had thought it was at all, and maybe she was seeing things. Clutching the gold cross at her throat, breathed deeply.

No she hadn't been seeing things, it was he. The same brown hair, the same dark eyes, nearly black just like she had. How could it possibly be him? The eye patch, was that how he covered the accident now? She hadn't meant for the knife to hit his eye, she had just been trying to get him away from her. Surely he knew that, but no, probably not. She hadn't stuck around to see if he did. Was he looking for her, why was he looking for her? She was here in New York now, she didn't have any connections back there anymore, how could he have possibly known.

There had been no evidence, no witnesses, she hadn't even bought the ticket, so how could he have managed to come up here and find her. Maybe it wasn't him, maybe he wasn't looking for her, and maybe she was safe. No it had to have been him, he was taller than she remembered, but she had grown too, not that much taller, but in other ways. No it couldn't be him, if it was he, it would ruin everything. It couldn't be him, it wasn't him… but what if it was?

****

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__

//Loyalty coated honesty,

Half the time she lied to me

You want the truth?

Could you have slept if you'd have known it…?//

****

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The long hours creeped past and Frost still didn't come back. This was highly disturbing to Spot and try as he might he could not find sleep. Sure he would doze off every once in awhile, be with every creak of the old building, he would start awake, hoping it was Emily. Finally, it was she. The time was unknown but at last he was she. Sitting up, he moved to meet her before she reached the bed that she called own.

"We needs ta talk, now," he ordered, and she knew it was pointless to avoid him now.

Defeated, she let her shoulders slump and they shuffled out into the hall with a lamp Spot had grasped. It was cold in the hallway, but it wasn't heated so of course it was. Kneeling, Spot dug in his pocket, but couldn't find a match, Frost knelt beside him and pulled out her own lifting the chimney off of the lamp and lighting it. When a good steady flame was burning, she returned it and stood and looked at Spot waiting for him to rise. As he sat there, seeming to contemplate his next move, she remembered his injuries and bent over to help him. When they reached the spare bedroom, she took this turn to pick the lock and did it in half the time Spot had. Smirking to herself, she pushed open the door and they entered.

The moon shone through the single dirty window and they shut the door behind them, sitting on the same sheet that had used last time.

The cold was all around them in the unheated room. One of the installments to be made was a heat-producing stove, but since the room was far from finished. The bunks weren't even constructed, and Spot wondered what was taking them so long to finish such an easy job. Perhaps they were getting paid more for the longer they worked, because he honestly didn't see a difference in the room now than he had when he and Frost had first broken into the room. If he were getting paid more the longer he worked; he would milk it for all it was worth.

Now wasn't the time to dwell on such things though, now was the time for some answers. Even in the lamplight, and through his swollen eyes, Spot could clearly make out that Frost was tired. She looked more than just tired; she looked exhausted, completely and thoroughly exhausted. The weight of the world seemed to be on her shoulders and if he hadn't known better he could have sworn he saw tears glistening in her eyes.

"I'se got some questions foah yous," he said roughly, disturbed by the fact that he actually cared that this girl was upset.

"I knew yous would," she sounded bitter, but Spot ignored the obvious pain in her voice.

"Wheah'd yous go dis aftahnoon?" he asked first.

"Lots o' places," she shrugged. "Wheah evah I'se could get wahm for a few moments," she rambled. "Wheah evah I'se t'ought dat I'se could find meself a friendly face oah a kind woahd…" she drifted and her eyes got a far away look. "Wheah evah I t'ought dat he wouldn't be," she added breathlessly.

"He who?" Spot prompted and she snapped back to earth.

"Whot do ya mean?" She went defensive, the pain gone and the cold front back.

"Da one dat came up ta me tanight an' wanted me ta tell yous somet'ing," Spot tempted.

"Whot did he say?" she asked, her interest piqued.

"Yous tell me who he is, an' Is'll tell yous whot he said," Spot bargained and her face faltered slightly.

"He's wos…" She started, searching for the right word. "He wos a boy dat I used ta know," she answered cryptically, but for the information that Spot had, it was a fair trade, but he wouldn't let her know that.

"Where'd yous know him from?" Spot questioned.

"From da place I'se from afore New Yawk," she glared at him. "Look, I'se told yous whot yous wanted ta know, now tell me whot he said," She sounded very cross and Spot didn't feel up to arguing with her tonight, so he caved.

"He said ta tell yous dat yous ain't gettin' away from him next time," Spot clarified and she didn't even blink at those words, she didn't respond at all in fact. Spot expected her to do something, anything, but she didn't, she just stared at him.

"Is dat all?" She asked woodenly.

"Yeah," Spot answered and something inside of him made him wish he had something more to offer.

"Oh," she turned her head and stared blankly into the flickering darkness. "Wos dere anyt'ing else?" she inquired, she looked weary again.

"Yous a'ight?" Spot asked, not being entirely heartless.

"Whot?" Frost seemed caught off guard by the moment of unguarded concern from the boy beside her.

"Ah yous a'ight?" he repeated and she blinked as she looked at him.

"Yeah, I'se fine," she answered a little too quickly.

"A'ight," they sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other, when Spot turned away and spoke into the darkness, uncomfortable with the way that this girl could make him feel. "So weah wos dat boy from?" Spot asked, still trying to pry into her past. 

"Ain't none o' youah business," Frost snapped but quickly retracted her word with her next phrase. "But if yous ansah one o' my questions Is'll tell yous wheah he's from," she bargained and Spot looked back at her.

"Promise?" Spot asked, almost in a juvenile fashion.

"Promise," she spat in her palm and extended it towards him, he shook it gently. His hands were still sore from the punches he had delivered.

"So wheah's he from?" Spot asked but Frost shook her head.

"I'se goin' foist," she told him plainly and seemed to gather her wits about her before looking deeply into his eyes. The power of her gaze was startling, but Spot found that he couldn't look away.

"A'ight," Spot consented and waited.

"Why," she started then paused, thinking how to word her question. "Why weah yous goin' ta jump?" 

****

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__

Outsider was quickly marked as Spot's second in command, even though Spot had never announced it. The thought had really never entered his mind, but it made sense. Ever since they were little they were labeled a pair, thick as thieves they were, and thick as thieves they would stay. The sweet truth of it was that they were friends of the best sort. Nothing could stop that, and nothing would stop that.

Leadership, as Spot soon found, was a very different sort of game though. Even as he had grown up playing 'games' such as these, he had never realized the full weight of the situation. It was a sad truth that one so young had to be exposed to all of the rigmarole of the position of control. Though if anyone could do it, it was Spot Conlon. One other was there that could approach Spot Conlon as Outsider did, and that was the one called Cowboy Sullivan.

Perhaps this was the reason that Spot was so concerned when he heard that this leader had been put in The House of Refuge. This was one spirit that didn't belong in such a place, and Spot knew it. It was a runner from Manhattan that carried the message of distress to the newsies in Brooklyn. Without their leader and without a second in command, there was absolute chaos. 

So with as much confidence and pomp as a nearly twelve year old boy can have, Spot Conlon looked down at the desperate boy with his cool gaze. Taking his gold-tipped cane, he slipped it into one of the loopholes on the side of his pants and pushed his slingshot into the waistband of his pants and adjusted his cap on his head. Looking at Outsider, he gave him the following instructions.

"Take cahah oh' da boys 'round heah," he ordered. "I'se gotta go help me friend," it was the first time anyone had heard Spot reference the Manhattan leader as a friend and something like that was worth taking note.

So with those noted words, Spot left Brooklyn, crossing the large bridge, and ventured into Manhattan with his small guide. This boy was may have been small, but it was of build, not of height for he was at least six inches taller than Spot. He was lean though, looking more as a pole when he walked than a boy. It was then that Spot met Swifty. The boy was the runner of Manhattan and seemed to store extra energy somewhere in those long legs that he walked upon. Even in his normal stride, Spot found trouble in keeping up with him.

When they reached the lodging house, it was quiet downstairs but upstairs in the bunkroom there was a heated debate underway. It was so heated in fact, no one noticed the duo arrive. In hidden mirth, Spot watched the groups fight over that would take leadership and what they should do about Jack. The one in center of it all seemed to be one who was just as short as Spot was. The difference was he was Italian, and Spot wasn't. For a few moments, Spot let this chaos continued before raising his fingers to his mouth and whistling loudly. The room came to a dead silence, every eye coming to the invaders.

"A'ight all, listen here!" Spot called out and the whole room just stared. "I'se heah ta help yous out while Cowboy's in dat hell hole," he informed and the boys all looked back and forth between each other then back at Spot. They had heard stories about how Spot lead and the idea was a little different than they were used to, also they didn't like the idea of someone just coming in a taking over. Especially a leader from another territory, it was the short Italian boy that protested.

A cigarette hung loosely from his lips which in a few years would be replaced by a cigar, but not yet, he stepped forwards and walked up to Brooklyn. For a few moments the boys sized off, as if they were trying to see who would back down first. When neither backed down, Race spoke.

"Now look heah," He took out his cigarette and waved his hands as he spoke. "We ain't lookin' foah no leadah," he said firmly and poked Spot in the chest. "We'se got it all undah control," he took a drag from his cigarette. "So why don'cha put an egg in youah shoe, an," Race opened his mouth and blew the smoke into Spot's face, Brooklyn didn't flinch. "Beat it," Race added with his perfected timing that he had developed for delivering insults.

For a moment, no one moved, then there was a glint of gold and Race was on the floor rubbing his head and Spot was tucking his cane back into the crook of his arm. If the room had been quiet before, it was absolutely dead silent now. No one dared to move, afraid to be the next to succumb to the wrath of Spot Conlon.

"My name's Spot Conlon," Brooklyn announced proudly. "I'se heah ta help yous out while Cowboy's in da Refuge," he repeated. "But dat ain't goin' ta be foah long," Spot informed and the whole room seemed to perk up. "We'se goin' ta break 'im out."

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A/N: Yeah, well I told you it would be a short chapter, don't hate me forever! At least I updated quickly so you would know what happened to our dear little Spotty. ^_^ I like writing this better than **Blind Spot **right now, because this doesn't depress me, but then again, I am writing this story… it is going to get depressing. Oh the agony of having angst-ridden muses! . : * Grumbles incoherently under her breath * : . Well I found out that I now have **FOUR **whole readers for this story. . : * Does a happy dance * : . Golly this is great. I never thought people would actually read this story when I started writing this, but I have 27 reviews baby! **27! **Okay, now before I make any more of a fool of myself, I am going to stop rambling and write the shout outs.

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Ireland O'Reily: Agh! Here is the update! Please don't harass me, I don't think I would like it! I can't remember the last day I posted on this story, . : * Counts back on her fingers * : . I think it was Tuesday, so this is a pretty fast update! Praise me. -_^ Ha, ha, well I guess they really are "Skittish" about their relationship, but I think they are just stupid. Nah, Spot isn't stupid, neither is Frost, their writer is just really bad at writing those sappy lovey-dovey scenes. . : * Whispers: But don't tell anyone, that's a secret! * : . They always come out tacky, must be because of my own lacking love life… hmm…. Well I posted some more of **Blind Spot** last night I think, so you should be pretty darn happy right about now! You aren't the only one desperate to hear the finish, I am too, I have no idea where these are going, but we are going to find out aren't we?

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Kaylee: Wow, I think that is the longest review I have ever gotten from you. Normally you are all just like WRITE MORE! But you actually stopped and wrote a longer review, I was like… dude… is this the same person? Ha, ha, just caught me kind of off guard there. -_^ I thought it was hilarious how you left a review on chapter one for chapter seven, that made me laugh so hard! Yeah, Frost is kind of temperamental and she likes to call Spot a bastard too much. (**Spot!Muse:** You've got that right) But anyway, Spot deserves it the little man-whore! Yeah, hooray for people loopy in love! I can kind of feel for Spot too, I am over 5' but I am still short! The poor guy! Well, girls grow till they are around 16-18, but guys grow till they are like 25! How unfair is that? Oh well, thanks for the review. Take care. ^_^

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Silent Breeze: Now I am not sure if this review was longer than the first one you gave me, but it made me laugh just as hard! Yes, I am very weird, but that is okay. . : * Thumbs up * : . Ha, ha, don't worry about when you review, just as long as you review! I am not at the computer with Internet a lot, so I don't get to check my reviews that often, like once a day, so it doesn't matter that much. ^_^ I'm glad that my stories update brought you so much happiness, but don't you think fireworks are a little over the top? -_^ Wow, you had the whole split personality thing going on with your hands, one hand wanted to read, the other didn't! That is okay though, I understand how that is, we girls need our beauty sleep. You survived school and Monday and still managed to write such a hilarious review, you are my hero! I am glad that it was worth your wait. . : * Glows * : . Ha, ha, Spot and Frost's fighting was romantic? Well it was supposed to show that yes there is chemistry between the two no matter what else is happening! So you're a love child of those two character too? Me three! I am such a coward, but you just have to swallow it and go for it! If you get around to posting some of your stuff, tell me, and I'll come R/R. ^_^ . : * Sings: You've got a friend in me… * : . Public school makes you write badder? Ha, ha, maybe, but my umm… 'talent' isn't a secret. I just don't tell anyone, in fact, no one in my family actually knows I write. Yeah, so your review wasn't well rounded, but it was all over the place and took me a heck of a long time to respond to! Ha, ha, well thanks anyway and take care!

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Skittles: It's okay that you didn't review right away, you reviewed now and that is what matters. I have had that same problem with Fan Fiction before. Well you can read **Blind Spot **now, because I wrote them so that you can read one without the other, they just mean more together, but if you haven't started reading it yet, I would wait until this one is done and then go read that one. It would make more sense, and well, it isn't done so you would have to be waiting on two different stories to be done! Awe, well falling down in front of hot guys isn't the end of the world. Most of the time, the really hot popular guys are the ones that are total bastards. Just look at Spot! Ha, ha, never mind, bad example. I hope you're okay now, though. You think my story is good! . : * Glows * : . Yeah! Someone likes me! Well they didn't kiss in this chapter either. Spot's too beat up to kiss anyone for awhile I think… Those darn Pullvines! Well, I say start posting your story now and you can always go back and fix, they have chapter replacement things where you can put the edited chapter in over the old one. I like that feature. ^_^ Well, if you keep giving me reviews I will keep giving you shout outs! I love my little reviewers! Take care!

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Fallen Phoenix: Hey and welcome to the reviewer's committee. You're madly in love with this story? Well, it could just be me, but that might seem a little weird to other people to. Most of the time people don't fall in love with things on the computer screen…. Ha, ha, no I am just kidding. I am madly in love with this story too! My story line is amazing? . : * Blushes bright red * : . Well, I am glad you approve and thank you for saying that my characters fit in persona, that is such a huge pet peeve of mine. Sometimes I will delete whole chapters because the characters aren't _just _the way I want them. This makes my reviews mad because it delays the story, but it makes it worth the wait… most of the time. Well this one didn't stop after the second chapter, or the third, heck this is the 7th chapter! 8th if you count the prologue! Hopefully this will continue to the bitter end because I have restricted myself to writing this story and **Blind Spot **only until I am done with them. No one-shot, no other series, just these two and man it is killing me! I want to get them done so badly because I have so many other ideas in my head! My grammar is perfect? Well I hope so! I do it enough in school. . : * Grumbles about how she hates diagramming sentences * : . Tough love indeed, 'those bumbling idiots' is right! When will the muses let me let them know they are in love? It looks like you will have to write a spin-off to destroy those nasty little Pullvine brothers because they messed with Spot and I can guarantee this is not the last you will see of them in this fiction. Thanks for the review. Take care! ^_^


	9. Rules of Engagement

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: Agh! It is snowing here! Snowing! Like the fluffy white stuff that makes everything pretty! Yum, I love snow! We have about two inches and it is still falling really hard! I am going to build an igloo after I write this chapter! Or maybe after it stops snowing… whatever comes first!

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG for mild language.

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Chapter 8: Rules of Engagement

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//Sometimes,

The simplest answers,

Are the hardest ones,

To give…//

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"Whot?" Spot asked dumbly as he watched the lamplight flicker across her face.

"Why weah yous goin' ta jump?" Frost repeated her question, asking her one granted inquisition.

"Whot do ya mean why?" Spot stalled and Frost frowned at him, brushing her long chestnut hair behind one shoulder.

"You knows whot I means," she reprimanded. "No one jumps foah no reason," she assessed and Spot turned away from her, looking down at his hands as they sat in the bitter silence.

Their breathing was the only noise in the room as the light flickered over the walls and their faces. Creating a rather eerie form of shadow play over the quiet duo. One's face was relatively normal, save a few fading bruises, the other was worse for wear, his face swollen, cut, and disfigured.

"Is'll ansah youah question," Spot started, pausing slightly, then looking back at her. "But I nevah said when," he reveled secretly in the look that flashed across her face as he used her response.

"Fine," she said coolly. "But you ain't goin' ta know who dat man wos," the ice in her tone was laced with fire.

"No, I is," Spot informed and she asked him why with the look on her face. "Somet'ing tells me dat yous got a problem wit' dis man," Spot said with sore lips. "An' if yous got a problem wit' him, he's pro'ly got a problem wit' yous," he clarified. "An' dat means he's got a problem wit' da Brooklyn newsies," he continued. "An' if he's got a problem wit' dem, I needs ta know," for a moment he let this information sink in.

"Stanton was differ'nt dan da oder boroughs," she diverted quickly. "Moah hoity toity I'se guess yous could say," she continued before Spot could protest, weaving the story that would do her less harm for him to know. "I gots dere eahly in da moahnin' an found da Distahbution office fastah dan noymal. Even dough doe's folks ah snobs, dey give good diahrections…."

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Stanton Island, Distribution office

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A small crowd of newsies was already at the distribution office when Ice arrived. It was different from the usual rough crowd she was used to. Instead of the rowdy troublemakers, these were calm, almost as though sedated. Their tattered clothes were clean as they could be, all of the boys' hair was slicked back and none of them wore the traditional caps. There were no girls.

You can imagine their surprise when Ice walked up to the group, her clothes filthy. The cap she wore was too large for her, and tugged down low over her soiled face. A strange medallion hung from her neck along with a gold cross. Probably one of the most befuddling things about her was she dressed as a boy. Something clearly unusual, almost blasphemous to the boys as they surveyed her like she was a freak. Obviously her street smarts wouldn't impress this crowd, she would need something else.

"Who ah yous?" Came the anticipated question from one of the crowd.

"I'se a newsie," she announced proudly, not showing her discomfort with the situation.

At her proclamation, a murmur ran through the crowd of lads. No one laughed, but more of a collective whisper rushed through their numbers. Instead of shrinking under the hard gazes and calculating glares, Ice straightened her thin shoulders and met each of their stares boldly. She broke the gaze only when they did. A very tall boy with a cloud of golden blonde curls approached her and scanned her with indignant eyes. Ice bristled inwardly.

"You, my friend, ain't no newsie," the blonde boy addressed her with a condescending manner and put on airs.

"I am a newsie," Ice replied in perfect grammar, that she was now thankful she still knew. "And you, sir, are quite rude," she challenged. "By what name goes your arrogance?" she had to concentrate immensely to perform as clearly and efficiently as she did. 

"Dey call me da Duke," The blonde boy announced proudly, and Ice took a step forward so they were very close and looked up. Meeting his aloof gaze with one of her own, she twisted her lips upward in a small smirk of inward mirth.

"Well _Dukie_," she mocked his name slightly, and watched his eyes harden with pleasure. "You can call me Duchess, and I'm a newsie."

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//No matter how many times,

You re-invent your self,

You will always be,

The same person underneath…//

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After that meeting, the Ice of Harlem melted into the Duchess of Stanton. Wishing away her past and the memories of yesterday with her new image. Though she had much trouble being accepted into this group, she managed to carve out a nitch for herself.

After establishing her place in the group, the boys didn't seem as stiff as they once had. Maybe they were human after all. The Duke mainly kept his distance from the aggravating girl, he was the only one that really continued to shun her. One thing that persisted to pester the boys was the fact that she continued to dress as a boy. That and she knew very little about the game of Chess.

The beaten and broken set of men and the checked board was one of the main forms of entertainment on their island home. Just as poker was the established pass time of the other boroughs, chess was Stanton's game of choice. All of them were quite appalled that she knew practically nothing of the strategies and rules of the game. The last straw probably had been when she asked if they ever betted on the games.

"Don't yous know nuttin'?" Duke exclaimed, rising to his feet.

"I'se jus' tryin' ta add some excitement," Duchess retorted hotly in her street dialect, standing also. "Yous all so stiff 'round heah, yous ain't got no idea 'bout how nuttin' in da high society woyks!" She accused. "But yous act like da damn queen o' England!"

"An' yous know somet'ing 'bout it den?" Duke shot back quickly, his temper just as fast as hers.

"Moah dan all a yous jokahs," she answered confidently. "Yous all nuttin' moah dan a buncha street trash an' actin' differ'nt ain't goin' ta change dat," she spat out, insulting the group and before she knew what was happening, something slapped her across her cheek. It didn't hurt in the slightest, but it surprised her.

"Whot da hell wos dat?" She asked.

"Day, my good Duchess, wos a challenge to a duel," the Duke replied, tucking the handkerchief he had used to strike her back into his sleeve. 

"Whot, yous really t'ink yous can beat me in a fight?" She asked laughingly.

"Not a fight," Duke corrected. "A duel," he spoke proudly. "A battle o' honah."

"A battle o' honah?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him as through he had grown another head.

"Yes," he sniffed slightly, the false airs he tried to put on almost musing.

"So we'se goin' ta do it now oah whot?" Duchess inquired impatiently.

"Tamarra," he said curtly. "At dawn," he added.

"Dawn?" Duchess snorted. "Ain't we da dramahtic one?" she rolled her eyes and started to turn away when his next words froze her in place.

"Bring youah knife," he instructed. "An' meet me at da docks," he ordered as she turned back.

"Knife?" She asked cockily, but underneath she was terrified. "Yous not man enough ta fight me da noymal way?" She raised on eyebrow curiously.

"Foist one ta draw blood wins," he didn't answer either of her questions directly. "Don' be late," he growled menacingly and the conversation was over. Being the mock gentlemen that they were, no one said anything about what had just occurred, but returned to watching the game that had continued to progress during the argument. 

Duchess on the other hand went to her bunk and reached under the pillow where she kept the few possessions she held on this earth. Drawing one out of the woolen sack she held, she fingered the leather sheath lovingly. Then, glancing around to make sure no one was looking, she drew out the blade for the first time since the fateful night in the Bronx.

Hook's dried blood still stained its silver surface. As quickly as she had washed away the memories, they came flooding back. Bowing her head, she let a single tear fall. Watching it splash on the shining surface of the blade, the salty liquid turned the flaking dark brown blood a dangerous crimson. She thought no one was watching her, and she was almost right, but there was one who was watching her, and he was watching her very closely.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

Unfinished room, Brooklyn Lodging house

****

. : ^_^ : .

"You's got in a knife fight wit' da Duke?" Spot interrupted, he had long since forgotten his other question, so caught up in Frost's story was he.

"Yeah, an' guess who won?" She laughed caustically.

"Not yous?" he took a swing and she looked at him coolly.

"T'anks foah da compliment," she said coldly, but didn't give him a chance to respond. "Yeah, he won, I'se still got da scah from weah he cut me," She smiled faintly.

"Wheah wos dat?" Spot prompted and she looked at him quickly then ducked her head. 

"On me chest," she admitted and Spots eyes shot open.

"So yous ain't goin' ta show it to me?" he asked, semi-hopefully and Frost sent him a withering glance.

"No," she replied quickly.

"It ain't like yous got anyt'ing ta hide," he jibed playfully, but her hand automatically went out ad slapped him in the chest. The painful gasp that came from him would normally be warrant for an apology, but Frost ignored his pain coldly.

"Anyways, Duke beat me pretty fast an' cut a hole in me only shoyt," she started her story again. "Cut a hole dis long right about heah," she indicated to a place on the right side of her chest about three inches long right above her breast. "An' I'se tellin' you whot, it hoyt like hell an' woise," she cringed at the memory. "Aftah a few days, Duke came up ta me an' stahted talkin' an' I knew dat somet'ing wos goin' on…."

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

Bunkroom, Stanton Lodging House

****

. : ^_^ : .

"Look Duke, whot do yous wont?" She crossed her arms across her chest and looked at him suspiciously.

"I'se heah ta give ya somet'ing," he squirmed uncomfortably, but did his best to hold his character as a gentleman. 

"Yous goin' ta give _me_ somet'ing?" She arched one eyebrow. "Whot is dis? A trick oah somet'ing?" She lowered her arms, waiting for an attack or something.

"No it ain't nuttin' like dat," He cleared his throat and looked around the room, all of the other boys were watching expectantly.

"Den whot?" Duchess asked, staying on guard.

"We'se decided dat since yous a lady," he started, then paused. "Since yous a lady an' yous don' dress like," he stopped again. "We'se got yous a gift so yous can look like a goil," he finally managed, the normally articulate boy took painfully long to get out what he meant to say. Motioning with his hand, Duke summoned a young boy named Pepper who came forward instantly and presented a package.

It wasn't wrapped well, in fact it was simply bunched up in old newspapers, but it was the thought that counted, right? Still suspicious, she opened it slowly, half expecting something to jump out and grab her, but no such surprise waited for her. Rough, woolen material met her fingers and she drew out a dark navy blue skirt. It was floor length, and made of fairly cheep material, but it would serve her much better than the worn old pants she was wearing. The second thing in the paper was a new shirt that was cut to fit a girl, made of the same rough, tough, woolen material. This was one of the nicest gestures anyone had ever bestowed upon her in a long time, but she was automatically suspicious.

"Why ah yous givin' dis ta me?" she tested.

"Because yous needed new clothes," Duke explained. "It ain't right foah a lady ta dress like a boy," he added.

"So now I'se a lady?" She raised an eyebrow. "I'se t'ought I was a newsie."

"Dere ain't no excuse not ta weah a skoyt if yous a goil," Duke informed. "An' we'se got dis foah yous cause we t'ought dat yous needed dem," he motioned to the group around him.

"Well, t'ank you," She answered, smiling slightly. "Should I goes try 'em on now?"

"Yeah, why not?" Duke acted uninterested.

"A'ight, I will," She walked towards the door that led to the small shared bathroom. Shutting it behind her, she held up the garments for further inspection. It was true that fall was quickly fading into winter, and she was terrible underdressed, having lost her winter garments in the fire. It was highly strange to her though, that these boys would go out of their way to purchase these things for her. As far as she knew, they hated her. Well, at least Duke hated her, but he had been the one to present these things to her. 

__

It's cause he's da leadah, dats why he gave 'em to ya, she reasoned as she changed quickly. The skirt was too big, and so was the skirt, but she was very small, so it was an honest mistake. Taking the rope belt she had from her pants, she looped it around her waist a few times before tying it in a firm knot. Collecting her other garments, she folded them carefully, then returned to the bunkroom. When she opened the door, the boys all clapped and she blushed, ducking her head.

"Now ya look like a Duchess," A boy with dark curly hair told her smiling. Even though the boy was a few years younger than she was, he was a few inches taller, and she had to look up to thank him.

"They look very nice on yous," Duke offered stiffly and she turned to him. 

"Ya t'ink so?" She span in a quick circle to show off her new clothes and Duke cleared his throat.

"Very nice," he repeated, looking uncomfortable at actually admitting it.

"Well t'ank yous," she smiled broadly, her dark eyes twinkling. "T'ank all yous," she raised her voice and called to the boys and she figured that he wasn't the lady like thing to do, but then again, she wasn't a lady.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

Three months later, New Years Eve, Stanton Island

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//Move on,

Short time that we have,

But nothing,

Lasts forever…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

"So tamarra is da new yeah," Duchess thought out loud to herself. 

It was in the dead on winter right now, and in New York, winter is as cold as summer is hot. Duchess now expected the temperature extremes, as she was entering her second year in New York. Selling papers on Stanton was much different than anywhere else she had sold though. Just as the new-year represented changes, she had been considering a change herself.

Though the experience here on the island had been fun, she couldn't stay here any longer. She hadn't played poker in so long she laughed that she wasn't going to know a straight from a flush the next time she picked up the cards. Ever since the day that the boys had given her the new clothes, she had been considered much more of an equal that she ever had wearing pants. While in most situations, it would be the opposite situation, she laughed to herself. These boys were quite different, and she would have to readjust to the more harsh life of the other boys. This didn't worry her though, what she was worried about was leaving. How would she get off of this island without going back to Harlem. 

Though she had been watching the ship schedules and listening the word around the docks, she hadn't heard of any other ships going anywhere besides Harlem and the Bronx. Didn't the captains know how to go anywhere else? A few of them would go to Coney Island once in awhile, but it would be hard to stow away on such rides. 

After she had sold her papers, she returned to the lodging house, her mind full of thoughts. Though she didn't show that she was brooding, several of the boys noticed that she was more withdrawn than normal. A few of them had become fairly good friends with this strange Duchess girl, and even taught her how to use a knife correctly. If she was going to be on Stanton, she at least needed to know the basics. For on Stanton, when people fought, they used knifes. 

After all the time she had spent here, it was strange to think that she would be leaving. Most boys were content to stay in one place their whole life as a newsie, but not Duchess, she had the urge to move. True, there was an acceptance for the girl now, but she still knew that they didn't consider her an equal. No boy had ever really considered her an equal, but these boys acted as though she might break if they were too rough with her. Like a china doll, if you will.

So, she decided that the next day, the new-year, she would make a new start and leave Stanton. That night, she went up on the roof of the lodging house and looked out over the island. They were fairly close to the wharves and she could smell the fresh crisp scent of salt water as it caught on the wind. Wrapping her arms tightly around her, she watched the people move around the streets at this unusually late hour. Since it was the night before the new-year, many young couples were out, passing time before the large city clock rung out the twelfth hour, signaling the turning of the time.

Now she let herself reflect on the past. Had it really been almost two years since she had run here to New York? It didn't seem possible that it had been that long, but it had. The time had made its changes on the girl, now a young woman. Though she was still no beauty, there was a grace and honesty about her that was strangely alluring.

It was absolutely freezing out on the roof that night, but Duchess didn't care. She didn't have a coat anymore since the fire so she had been building immunity to the cold as the days progressed from autumn to winter. Though no one could be completely immune to the biting weather in which she stood.

It wasn't until someone joined her on the roof that she realized that she was cool. The Duke had come out of the safety and warmth of the rooms below them. At first he had been startled to see her up there, but there really wasn't any reason why he should have been. Duchess had every right he had to be up on that roof, even at this late hour. Walking up, he stood beside her and lit his cigarette, neither said a word. 

Long after his cigarette was gone, he remained on the roof with Duchess, neither of them said a word, but surveyed the various partygoers on the street. Never before had he been up here on the night of New Year's Eve. It was actually quite interesting as the streets were relatively bustling with activity. Finally, Duchess broke the silence between them by pointing her finger at a couple as they strolled the streets late at night.

"See dem?" She asked, and Duke nodded. "De's goin' ta be in trouble in da moahnin' cause her faddah don' like dat boy," she explained. "But de's in love an' dey don' cahah, but she shuah as hell is goin' ta cahah in da moahnin'," she chuckled to herself and Duke looked at her.

"How do ya know dat?" he asked curiously.

"I don't," she continued to giggle. "I'se jus' makin' it up, heah, yous try," she pointed to another pair as they walked down the streets. "Whot is dere stoahy?" She asked and Duke thought for a little bit.

"Dey ah goin' ta a pahtay, but dey got lost an' dey don' know wheah de's goin' now," he speculated. "So de's jus' wand'rin' 'round till dey find someweah's ta go," he finished his little summery and grabbed her hand. "Come on, dere is moah people down by da clock towah," he said and pulled her towards the fire escape. They climbed down together and they headed towards the Town Square that held a large tower with a clock that rang out the hours. True to his word, there were dozens of couples milling about, talking and laughing in the open area.

"Whot about dem?" Duchess asked, pointing with one hand, still holding his with the other.

"Dem?" The Duke saw the girl with a large frilly gown with a boy who was dressed similarly to he. "I ain't veahy good at dis game, why don' yous tell me," he prompted and she looked at the pair more closely.

"Well, da boy ain't got no money, but da goil does, an' neither one o' dere families know dat de's in love," she wove the tale. "But dey ah, an' de only way dat dey can see each oder is if dey sneak out like dis," she said. "And dem," she pointed to another pair. "Dey jus' got mahied, an' de's in love," she made her voice rise above its normal pitch as she said love. Duke laughed. 

"So ya do dis often?" He asked, just now realizing that their fingers were locked.

"Whot?" she asked. 

"Do ya make up stoahies 'bout people like dis all da time?" He asked and she smiled.

"Evahy day," she answered. "Sellin' papes is boahin' if ya don't," she explained.

"It ain't polite talk 'bout people behind dere backs," he pointed out, his attempt to be a gentleman.

"We ain't talkin' 'bout dem behind dere backs," She pointed out. "We'se don' even knows dem, we'se jus' makin' up stuff 'bout dem," she clarified. "Dat ain't gossipin' is it?" she asked and he shrugged.

Just then, the clock began to strike out the hour of twelve and a roar was heard from the crowd. All of the couples turned to their partner and kissed them soundly. The observance of this was slightly discomforting to the two standing with their fingers still locked. It was then that Duchess noticed that they were still holding hands and she flushed as she looked up at her curly hair companion.

"Ya know it's a trahdition ta kiss someone at da new yeah," she said softly, barely audible over the shouts of joy and the ringing of the clock's bells.

"I'se hoyd dat afore," The Duke swallowed heavily. "I'se also hoyd dat it's bad luck ta break a trahdition," he hinted, clearing his throat nervously.

"I'se got enough bad luck as it is," Duchess smiled. "I don' wont any moah," she turned up her face expectantly, and when Duke didn't move, she reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers.

__

Whot da hell, she thought as she pressed her lips against his. The kiss wasn't long, or did it really amount to much, but it sent of course of warmth through both of their bodies and they pulled apart just as the clock hit the stroke of twelve. For a few long moments, they just stared at each other, then Duchess stepped back and let go of his hand.

"I guess dat wos a t'ank you," she smiled half-heartedly.

"Foah whot?" Duke looked dazed.

"Foah evahy t'ing, specially dese clothes," she motioned to the skirt and shirt she was wearing.

"It weren't nuttin'," he shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, the chill of the air slowly returning to his body.

"Well t'anks anyway," she looked down at her feet and an awkward silence passed between them. "I'se leavin' tamarra," she finally said.

"Whot?" he asked, lifting his steely eyes to hers.

"I'se leavin'," she repeated.

"Wheah ya goin'?" he questioned.

"I'se t'inkin' bout goin' ta Manhattan," she admitted.

"So yous leavin' Staten?" she could have sworn he sounded sad.

"Yeah, I need somet'ing new," she nodded. "An' I needs someone dat knows how ta play a mean game o' pokah," she laughed slightly and he chuckled along with her.

"Well, it's been nice ta be know yous," Duke offered politely. 

"Yeah, well I ain't gone yet, yous still got me 'round till tamarra," she teased and he smiled wryly.

"Dat's true," he nodded, seeming to consider this. "So dat means we'se got all night foah yous ta teach me how ta play pokah," he smiled and she cocked her head to one side.

"Yous wont me ta teach ya how ta play pokah now?" She asked in disbelief.

"Shuah, why not?" he asked, uncharacteristically spontaneous.

"A'ight," she shrugged. "If yous wanna know, I'se gotta be one a da best teachah's outs dere," she boasted and reached for his hand again. "But lets go inside ta loin how," she suggested and he took her hand with an affirmative nod. That night, the Duke of Stanton learned how to play poker and at the dawn of the New Year, the Duchess of Stanton sneaked onto a boat to Manhattan and sailed from the island forever.

****

. : ^_^ : .

"So how'd ya get his handkahchief?" Spot asked and a slow smile crept onto Frost's face.

"I stole it," she giggled and Spot gaped.

"You stole Duke's handkahchief?" he exclaimed.

"Yeah," She nodded vigorously.

"Damn," Spot muttered and he looked down at his hands, his knuckles were all swollen, cut, and bruised, just what his face looked like. "Do ya still do dat?" he asked suddenly.

"Do whot?" She frowned, unsure what he was talking about.

"Do ya still make up stoahies 'bout people," Spot clarified. "When yous sellin' youah papes?"

"Yeah," She nodded. "Sellin' papes still gets boahin' wit'out it," she yawned widely. "But I'se goin' ta bed now," she stretched her arms over her head, slowly bringing them back down to her sides.

"No ya ain't, yous goin' ta tell me whot happened in Manhattan," Spot ordered in his normal bossy way.

"No I ain't," She shook her head firmly. "I'se goin' ta bed, an' you ah too," she commanded, starting to stand.

"I took dis bustin' foah yous an' now yous goin' ta tell me da rest o' da stoahy, now!" Spot's voice rose and she motioned him to be quiet.

"Yous didn' havta take no bustin' foah me, but ya did," she answered quietly. "An' because ya did, yous need ta get ta bed now so yous can get bettah fastah," she told him in a motherly tone. "You ain't as much fun when yous all beat up," she lamented as she offered him a hand to help him to his feet and he stood up with a muffled groan, his ribs still hurting terribly.

"I sweah yous like ta hoyt me," he growled as she leaned over and picked up the oil lamp.

"Yous really t'ink dat I'se would do dat?" she pretended to be grossly offended.

"Shuah as hell I do," Spot grumbled and moved towards the door with Frost trailing behind him.

Softly, they tread down the hall to the door of the bunkroom, blowing out the lamp, they entered as silently as possible. The process of moving to their respective bunks was hard in the semi-darkness, the only light coming was from night sky through the few windows. They managed however, and were soon lying in their own beds, sound asleep.

****

. : ^_^ : .

A week came and went. The March weather unusually harsh as it pelted the New York area with snow and ice. It was days like these that made Frost wish she was had picked a warmer city to call home. The bruises from her fight with Spot had faded, but she couldn't say the same for him. The wounds that the Pullvines had given him were deep and though the bruises weren't as dark, and the swelling wasn't as bad, the cuts he had received had scabbed over nicely, but were still there. His lips still looked painful and cracked, and he resented the fact that Frost made him keep his ribs wrapped. 

The story from several nights prior had left several questions in Spot's mind, but he hadn't been able to find a time to confront Frost about it. Being around the girl made him uncomfortable and he didn't like it. Spot Conlon didn't get skittish around girls, but this girl was different. Maybe she wasn't a girl at all, that would make his life a lot easier… or would it make it more complicated?

Swearing under his breath, Spot headed back to the Lodging house. He had sold his papers, and he was done for the day. The cold weather made his ribs ache more than anything and he longed for the warmth to seep into his bones, comforting him. That wasn't the only thing that he thought of when he thought of warmth and comfort. Strange how a girl whose name was that of ice and snow could make him feel like he was in the middle of a heat wave. Strange, funny, and very discomforting, that is.

Using the years of practice he had, he tried to get his thoughts under control. Now wasn't the time to be focusing on silly little girls or his silly little feelings for them. Pushing open the door, he smiled at the raven-haired girl who was scrubbing the floor in the front hall. A sweet girl; that is what she was, probably sheltered from the evils of the world. It was then that Spot realized that his shoes were filthy as he treaded on her clean floors.

"I'se sorry," he muttered, leaning over and peeling off his boots.

"That's all right," she smiled softly, her soft Irish accent playing in his ears.

With a nod, Spot headed up the stairs, boots in hand. To his surprise, Frost was already up there. Had she outsold him today? She hadn't heard him come in, and he tiptoed silently to his bed and then purposefully dropped his boot on the ground, making a loud clatter. Frost jumped and he laughed. Shooting him a venomous glance, Frost turned back to her observation out the window, her fingers busy playing with something that hung around her neck.

"Did yous sell all youah papes a'eady?" Spot asked and Frost shook her head, pointing at the pile that was on her bed, at least twenty were still there, but she didn't stop looking out the window.

"Why'd yous stop sellin'?" Spot asked, walking over to her, noticing that the necklace she wore was a gold cross. It looked expensive, she probably stole it, but he said nothing.

"I had to," She answered cryptically. 

"Why's dat?" Spot asked. "Ya get too cold?"

"No," she shook her head slightly and kept looking out the window like she was waiting for someone to come to the lodging house.

"Da Pullvines boderin' yous?" Spot figured this was a valid reason for her mood.

"No," She sounded distant and Spot looked out the window with her. There was no one on the street in front of the lodging house, but she kept staring.

"Whot ah yous lookin' at?" 

"Nuttin'."

"Is dere supposed ta be somet'ing?" 

"Nope."

"Ah you's a'ight?" Spot finally asked, hitting dead ends at every turn.

"Yeah, I'se fine," She paused, her fingers stopped fiddling with her necklace and she looked at him. "Why?"

"Why?" Spot gaped. "Cause yous ain't actin' like youah self!" he proclaimed the obvious. "You ain't told me ta shaddup once since I'se got heah," he continued. "Ya ain't been hittin' me eider," he joked, trying to break her solemn mood, but she didn't even give him a token smile. Turning back to the window, she looked outside again.

The sky overhead was swirling with snowflakes as they fell from the gray clouds that covered the heavens. The streets were covered with dark sludge that seemed to absorb all of the white purity right out of the flakes as they landed. Few people dared to venture out on such a cold day without good reason. The cold was not only on the outside, it was on the inside, and Spot realized that is was freezing up here. Frost hadn't stoked the fire when she had arrived and it was icy upstairs.

"Ain't ya cold?" Spot asked as he stooped to bring life to the fire in the stove.

"No," she said distantly, continuing to look out of the window. Her coat, boots, gloves, hat, and scarf were all still in place on her body. The gloved fingertips moving aimlessly over the small gold cross.

"You saw dat man again didn't yous?" Spot asked, sudden realization striking him.

"Whot?" Frost turned from the window this time and gave him her full attention.

"Dat man dat we'se saw awhile back," Spot straightened from his work at the hearth. "Da one wit' da eye patch," Spot clarified. "Yous saw him again didn't yous?"

"I don' knows whot yous talkin' bout," she turned away suddenly and moved over towards the door. "I'se goin' out," she told him and Spot caught her quickly.

"Like hell yous goin' out," he growled, blocking the door. "Yous goin' ta tell me who dat bastahd is," he ordered. "Now!"

"I don' havta do anyt'ing you says Spot Conlon, now move afore I makes ya!" She yelled moving towards him, but Spot straightened to his full height and glared at her.

"No," he denied her passage and she turned away from him, disgusted.

"Fine," she answered, moving towards her bed. "But I ain't gotta tell yous _nuttin'_," she spoke through clenched teeth.

"No, yous gunna tell me now," Spot followed her. "Oah," he took a deep breath as he collected his thoughts. "Oah yous goin' ta havta leave," Frost turned at looked at him with disbelief.

"Leave?" She asked sarcastically. "You ain't got da powah oah da noyve ta do dat Conlon," she spat.

"Oh yeah I'se do," he said in a dangerous tone. "I'se da leadah heah an' whot I says - goes," he emphasized the last phrase.

"Damn ya Spot Conlon!" She yelled. "Yous can't do nuttin' ta me, I'se paid foah my boahd heah, an' I'se can stay wheah I'se want," she retorted, not falling into his game of intimidation.

"Shuah, I'se guess yous could stay," Spot changed tactics. "Ya jus' might not want ta," he threatened.

"Whot's dat supposed ta mean?" She fired back, her eyes flashing.

"I guess yous could say dat ya ain't goin' ta have no moah insuahance 'round heah no moah," he sneered. "Da Pullvines got a problem wit' yous an' if dey evah wont ta get'cha, ya ain't goin' ta have no one 'round ta stop dem," His tone held a dangerous low growl to it.

"I ain't stupid a'ight?" She was at her bunk now, rummaging around. "I knows whot yous mean by insuahance," she picked up a small bundle of things.

"All yous gotta do is tell me whot dis man's gotta do wit'choo," Spot reminded. "Dat's all."

"Dat's all?" Frost asked turning, knapsack in hand.

"Yeah," Spot nodded.

"Really?" Frost asked sarcastically.

"Yeah," Spot nodded again.

"_Really_?" Frost's question had a hard edge to it.

"Yeah," Spot shoved his sore hands into his pockets.

"Really?" She asked a third time. "Dat _all_ I'se _has_ ta tell yous?" She laughed slightly at the end, but it was mirthless. "How truly kind o' yous mistah Conlon," She bowed regally from the waste, practicing the mastered art of sugar coated sarcasm. "You foahget though mistah Conlon, one t'ing," She walked up very close to him.

"Whot's dat?" he asked hesitantly as she motioned him to bend over slightly. He did so and she got very close to his ear before speaking again.

"Yous foahgot dat…" she whispered, trailing off slightly before yelling in his ear. "I don' havta tell yous nuttin'!"

Gripping the assaulted ear, Spot took a few steps back, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they were burning with rage. Approaching her, she didn't back down from his hard steps.

"Tell me oah get out," he growled through clenched teeth.

"I'se a'eady gone," she answered sassily, brushing past him smoothly.

"Wheah ah ya goin' ta go?" Spot called after her. "You ain't got nowheah ta go in New Yawk," he reminded.

"I never said I'd stay in New York," She called back, dropping her street accent. 

"Den wheah yous goin' ta go?" Spot asked, curious.

His question was answered only by a cruel, caustic laugh.

****

. : ^_^ : .

Emily heard the exchange upstairs, the shouting and yelling hard to miss in the otherwise quiet lodging house. Whatever was going on up there sounded bad. The next thing she remembered was the sound of someone's heavy boot clomping down the stairs and the girl she remembered was named Frost appeared.

"I ain't stayin' heah no moah," she mumbled as she made her way to the door. "So yous got a free bed," she informed. "An' don' woahy," she comforted from the door. "I'se up ta date on me boahd," with that the girl swung open the door and left, slamming it behind her.

Confused beyond all reason, Emily knelt, looking up from her work of scrubbing the floor. If she had looked on the shadows of the stairs, she would have seen a boy standing there. He was a short boy, but one of power and distinction. If a lamp had shone on his face, you would have been able to see a world of emotions in the boy's dewy orbs. But the raven-haired girl didn't look up and see him there. She went back down on all fours and continued to scrub.

Silently, the boy returned to ascend the stairs, his sock-covered feet not making any noise as he climbed. As he reached the top, he looked around the room, stopped at the stack of papers that lay on the bed that was now unoccupied. It took every ounce of willpower not to go over to the window and watch her leave, and every ounce of control not to break down and cry for a reason he didn't understand.

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A/N: Wowie! So Frost and Spot actually got into a big ol' fight and now you guys don't know what is going to happen do you? Don't you just hate me? Is Frost going to come back? Are we ever going to know what happened with Jack and Frost? Is Spot ever going to realize that I am madly in love with him? Am I ever going to realize that I am obsessed with a character in a movie? Well, I have the answers to these questions (well some of them) and you don't! Ha! . : * Sticks out her tongue at all of you * : . Nah, I don't really mean that, because honestly, I am not sure what is going to happen either, but don't tell anyone that. It is a secret! So yeah, anyway, this update was delayed and I am sorry! There have been some issues in my life lately that have been completely out of my control and have kept me away from my writing. . : * Tear * : . Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if I left you hanging, so here are a few notes for my lovely reviewers.

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Ireland O'Reily: Actually, my keyboard is black, not gold… but a gold keyboard would ROCK! Yeah, harassing people can be bad for your health, and for your grades. Ooh, Midterms, lucky you. Well maybe this chapter will help give you a little break from all of your intense studying. Since you are also reading **Blind Spot** along with this one, you really can see the attraction Emily has for Spot, even if it justs a little. Ha, ha, well I am glad that my sad stories don't make your day bad, but instead, glad! I hope this update didn't leave you too mad at me…. Take care. ^_^

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Kaylee: Ha, ha, I totally understand the whole sharing the computer with sisters and mom thing. I finally got so sick of it, I took out my savings and bought an old used laptop so I could type and get more than two or three sentences out without being kicked off! I can't tell you what a blessing it is to have this laptop! If I didn't have it, you guys would be getting monthly updates instead of weekly. -_^ And I don't mind you asking for more, it lets me know that you want to more which is a big deal to me because I don't want to write something if everyone hates it and just wants me to stop! Well, tally-ho and good luck on all of the reviewing. I am pretty new to FF.net myself, I've only been here a few months, but just like you I am totally hooked!

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Skittles: Yum, Squid dissection, my favorite. I actually like the dissection part of lab, but we never had to do a squid. We had to do a baby pig and that was kind of sad because it was little and kind of cute, but it was dead and we had to cut it open and everything. Oh, so you are editing all you works? Too much sex? Maybe I am too young to read your stuff! -_^ Ooh, vampires, I've always wanted to write a supernatural fiction, but I am not allowing myself to write anything but **Frostbitten** and **Blind Spot** until they are completely done! Darn it! Well it sounds like you have a lot of fictions and a pretty good start on a lot of ideas. My suggestion is to pick one of two to be your 'babies' and work on them exclusively until they are done. Post those, then work on others. It is a lot less overwhelming then! But tell me when you post them so I can come check them out. Take care, ^_^

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Fallen Phoenix: I admit that I thought it might be your last review, but I wasn't sure. You never know until you post another chapter! Well here is the next chapter and maybe you will review this one too. ^_^ If your flattered, that I am flattered, then I am flattered because you are flattered that you flattered me? Whoa, that last sentence made my head hurt to think out before I typed it! Yeah, the Pullvines are in trouble, but I can't promise that they will go away… because they won't. Yeah, I would totally love to beta read for you! What an honor! My email is on my profile and I am pretty sure I emailed you once, maybe you didn't get it? Well take care, and a dedication of an evil charry to me? . : * Blushes * : . Wow that would be an honor!

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Silent Breeze: Congratulations that was the funniest review I've ever gotten! I laughed so hard I actually fell out of my chair. My mom freaked out, she was like, WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU READING? So I said that a friend was just being really weird. Or should I say my love-child sister was being really weird? O_O You think that young boys trying to kill each other is cute? What kind of weird person are you? No, I am just kidding, yeah, little Jack and little Spot was really fun to write. I am sure you are not the only one that thought Kid Blink, but it isn't, it is a scary guy! Dun, dun, dun! . : * Cue the scary music * : . But oh well, he has been in the plans to come into the story since the beginning. Sorry, but you can't come into the story. . : * Tear * : . And if you don't like what happens, blame the muses. I am nothing, they are the ones that control me. I am helpless against their bidding! Frost and Spot's 'moment'? Ha, ha, I never thought of it as that, but cool. ^_^ Well we still aren't sure how he is going to answer her question, but we don't even know if they are ever going to talk to each other again either! AGH!

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Red Cinnamon: Welcome to the review board! I have now successfully sucked another helpless soul into my story! . : * Laughs maniacally * : . I am on your favorite other's list. I am so honored! . : * Dries a tear in the corner of her eye * : . You didn't think Frost was a Mary-Sue? Good! I really tried not to have her be that and I tried to make Spot believable. Sure he is a smart and strong, but he isn't a god either! Pulling off an all-nighter for this story, eh? Well that is an honor! Yep, I am 16, hello fellow 16 year old! So you liked the 'beat-up Spot chapter?' You woke up your family? Oops? Yeah, don't we all wish were Frost though? . : * Wistful sigh * : . Ha, ha, well I liked writing about Spot getting beat up because that meant a little bit of kind of angst-fluff with Frost. You read it twice? Go you! Yeah, she did do some damage, but we still love her anyway. Take care and thanks for your reviews. ^_^

Anyway everyone, reader count is down to… no wait! It is **up** to . : * **6** * : . whole readers! Not **6 **half readers, but whole readers! That is **2** more readers that before! . : * Dies of shock * : .


	10. Repercussion

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: I'm sick of writing this story, I'm sick of researching this story, I'm sick of trying to make Spot fall in love with a girl that isn't me! Most of all, I'm just sick of writing this. I don't know, I just don't feel like people actually want me to finish or anything, I don't know. I really don't like the plot, I kind of sort of hate Frost, and I'm sick of trying to think of how to fit all this together. Now I remember why people figure out how to resolve stories before they start writing them darn it.

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG for some language and a little violence.

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Chapter 9: Repercussions

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//The human race never fails,

To amaze me,

With their stupidity,

And their blind pride…//

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"How ah we'se goin' ta break Cowboy out?" Kid Blink asked.

"We'se goin' ta figuah a way out now," Spot told them all, stepping over the offended Racetrack who was still on the floor rubbing the bump on his head. 

"We ain't goin' ta be able ta get da boy outta dere!" A small blonde boy with glasses protested.

"Who ah yous?" Spot pointed his cane at the boy who claimed the impossibility of the situation.

"D-Dutchy," he stuttered and Spot frowned.

"Youah new ain't yous?" Brooklyn asked and the boy nodded. "Well lemme tell yous somet'ing Dutchy," he walked over and wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulders, they tensed at the contact. "Ain't nobody evah goes against me," Spot informed. "Unless yous wanna look like youah pal Race ovah dere," he pointed with the gold-tipped cane again as he released his shoulders. "Got it?"

"Got it," The blonde boy answered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"Good," Spot let his cold eyes roam the group. "Anybody else gots any questions?" He asked and everyone shook their heads readily. "Good," Spot smiled again. "Cause I'se gots a plan."

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Spot went to the bed with all of the papers on them and took them in hand. He felt the weight of them in his hands and gripped them firmly. His grip tightened until his arms were shaking with the pressure that he used, with an angry shout, he flung the papers on the floor. Sending them to scatter everywhere, he watched the slide across the floor and his eyes darted to the window. She was probably out of sight now, so it didn't matter if he went and looked out the window, did it?

Stalking over to the glass pane, he felt the draft and shivered as he looked out. Nope, no chestnut haired girl on the streets. Swearing under his breath, he frowned. Why had he lost his temper so quickly? Maybe if he had controlled it, she would still be here. It wasn't his fault though. If she hadn't been so stubborn, none of this would have happened! It was all her fault! He convinced himself of this. Then a sobering thought struck him. Why did he care?

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Shit, was the next thing that reached his mind and it replayed in his mind again and again. _No,_ followed the trail of profanity as the truth of the thought struck him. _I'se cahah cause she hoyt my pride, _he reasoned, but knew that it wasn't true. The reason he cared ran much deeper than mere pride, or the physical attraction. Though the realization had come, the acceptance hadn't. It would be awhile before Spot would allow himself to admit that he was in love.

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Yous don' have nowheah ta go in New Yawk, Frost thought with mockery. _Dat shows whot he knows,_ she added bitterly, looking behind her for the millionth time.

Why was she looking behind he so often? She wondered. There was very little reason to. Did she really expect Spot to come after her? Or maybe there was something else that was nagging her. Of course that was it, it had to be something else. There was absolutely nothing between her and Spot besides the occasional witty conversation and the rare laugh. Everything else was pure aggravation, irritation, and purposeful harassment. 

Pressing him from her mind, she trudged along, she had a long way to get to where she was going. It was true that she still didn't have enough for an entire fare to any of her select locations, so where could she go? Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, even Stanton were all closed options. Where else was there? Well there was one place that Frost knew of, a place that she had hoped to avoid. Going to this place would mean cutting through Harlem and Manhattan, two hostile territories, but she would be away from Brooklyn, and that is what mattered now. 

This place was different from the other newsie circles. They played by their own set of rules, followed the beat of their own drummer. Living the life of wild woman and cheap booze was their way, but she would have to learn to get by. Horror stories had come from the few female newsies that had tried to make their living there, but Frost wasn't one to listen to tearful stories. Everyone had a story like that, even if it was exaggerated, or even if it was true. True or not, she didn't have a choice this time. Right now, Frost was walking through the sludge and the snow making her was to a place she never thought she would go.

Frost was going to Coney Island.

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Maybe it was divine fate that hustled Frost out of the door that night after the spat with Spot. Maybe it was something uncontrolled by the masses of humanity that swarmed the streets. Maybe it was pure chance that she escaped that day before the man with the eye patch came. Maybe it was all of these, but whatever it was, it was a good thing that she was gone.

The fire was blazing in the small heating furnace in the boy's large bunkroom where the main population of the newsies had gathered. Spot was sitting on his top bunk with a knife in hand, his slingshot in the other, as he carved patterns over the wood. The trademark of Brooklyn already had several marks and designs cut into its surface, but Spot made more. No one bothered him as he sat up there with a knife in hand. It was clear he was brooding, and the possibility of angering him was high. An angry Brooklyn with a knife wasn't a pretty picture, especially with the wrath was turned against you. 

This was a rule that this man with the eye patch obviously didn't understand as he came barging into the bunkroom, Emily trailing behind him. Angrily, he looked around the room with his one eye as the raven-haired girl came around in front of him. 

"Sir, you can't come up here," she planted the rule in front of him.

"I can do what I want," he sneered and Spot looked up from his work, scowling. 

"Please, sir, come downstairs now. Only newsies are allowed up here," she pleaded, and he pushed past her without a second look.

"I don't care," he growled, prowling around the room. It was then that Spot jumped down from his perch and confronted the man, knife still in hand.

"Excuse me suah," He pulled himself to his fullest height and place his overly confident smirk on his lips. "But da lady heah said dat yous need ta leave," he spat on his knife and rubbed it slowly with the filthy handkerchief he kept. Slowly, the large man turned and scanned Spot with his one eye.

"I know you," he pointed and Spot pretended to look surprised.

"Do ya now?" He raised his eyebrows mockingly. "Lotsa people claim ta know me," he boasted, knowing that the whole room was now watching him.

"You were on the street that day with Lois," he accused and Spot's mind leapt onto the information offered him. Was Frost's real name Lois?

"Nevah known no one by dat name," Spot shook his head and slid the cloth over the silver blade in his hand one final time. "But I do remembah somet'ing 'bout a lady askin' yous ta leave," he reminded, pointing the knife in Emily's direction as she stood demurely waiting. "It ain't polite ta keep a lady waitin'," Spot informed and the man looked irritated.

"I'm not leaving until I get what I want," the man growled and Spot didn't bat an eyelash at the unlined threat.

"No yous goin' ta leave when I'se say yous goin' ta," Spot corrected and the man took a step closer, attempting to intimidate Spot, but he didn't budge.

"And who's going to make me go?" he sneered. "You, little man?" He looked Spot up and down, obviously making fun of his size and a dark fire jumped into Spot's eyes, but that was the only change in his appearance.

"Me an' me friends might have a t'ing oah two ta say bout it," Spot snapped his fingers and four or five of the larger boys all stood and came up behind him. "Dese boys heah ain't much foah talkin', but dey shuah as hell like ta fight," Spot smiled wryly. "Specially when da woyd of a lady's bein' ignoahed," he informed and the man looked over each of his possible opponents.

"Are you too chicken to fight me yourself, little man?" The man teased maliciously, trying to play to Spot's sense of pride.

"Nah, I ain't too chicken," he shook his head. "Jus' wouldn't be fayah ta yous," he sheathed the knife that he had held and put it in the top of his boot. "Now ah yous goin' ta leave all friendly like, oah ah we'se goin' ta havta show ya ta da door?" Spot's eyes narrowed dangerously and the whole bunkroom was absolutely silent.

The man looked at Spot, then at his small army behind him, then around the whole room. Slowly, he scanned every inch of the large area with his one eye as black as pitch. Then taking a step back, he gave Spot one more venomous glance.

"I know how you newsies work," he informed. "And I know that Lois is around here somewhere, so you can just tell her that I am going to find her," he said finally and then turned to leave. 

"Escoyt him down da shahs boys, make shuah he don' get lost on da way ta da doah," Spot told those that stood behind him, and they moved as one to do their leader's bidding. Walking over to the lodging house owner's daughter, he nodded in acknowledgement.

"Thank you," she said, smiling softly.

"Nuttin' ta t'ank me foah," Spot smirked. "If yous evah have problems wit' him again, jus' lemme knows an' Is'll make shuah he won' boddah yous evah again," Spot promised, smiling slightly through his damaged lips.

"Thank you," she said again, then turned and went out the door quietly, Spot watched her go, then turned to return to his previous activity.

Already, the room was active again. The man had been ushered out of the room only a few moments before and everyone was back to what they had been doing before. A few of the younger newsies had hurried over to the window to see the man be thrown out, but the rest didn't care. 

Scanning the room quickly, Spot sighed as deeply as his sore ribs would allow. Reaching for the knife at his side, he went back to his bunk and climbed up onto the top. Picking up the slingshot that had won him a large amount of his reputation, he returned to carving. The pattern he was creating was a complex assortment of delicate lines around the very base of the handle. The lines looked like a lacy spider-web etched into the wood, but if one looked closer, they could see that it wasn't a spider-web he had created. It was the pattern of the ice crystals frozen onto the windows in the cold of winter's morn. 

Spot had carved frost onto his slingshot.

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//We live for the moment,

Try to seize it and own it,

Squeeze it and hold it,

Cause we consider these minutes golden…//

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Frost made it to Coney Island around three in the morning, she had walked all night and was tired, cold, and hungry. Stumbling into an alleyway, she found an empty crate and crawled inside. So tired, she was so very tired, and even if she never did wake up, she didn't care. Now all she wanted to do was catch a few hours of precious sleep. Unfamiliar with the area, she didn't know exactly where she was on Coney Island, but she knew that she wasn't in the Gut. At least not yet, but she had a feeling she would be there sometime.

The Gut of Coney Island was as place of rampant gambling, prostitution, drinking, gangs, and any other underhanded greed driven crime ever committed. If you wanted to find the scum of the earth, you need not look any further than the Gut. Though it was said it had been worse before it had burned thirty years prior, it was hard to believe.

Coney Island was not known only for its disreputable establishments, it was known for its racetracks. Sheepshead races, along with two other tracks made up majority of the racing in the city. Though there were trotting races on the streets, there was nothing like watching the pure and unadulterated power of the galloping stallions coming around the bend. Though gambling on such races was illegal, the law was mainly over looked by the establishments and bookie operated freely amongst the crowds. 

Being the holder of several resorts, Coney Island also was the perfect place for the wealthy to vacation. Often the wealthy would come here and walk the streets freely with their purses at their sides. Purses that would end up empty by the end of the day or gone completely and almost always not because they'd spent their money. Pickpockets were one of the numbers of criminals that made their living here.

Tonight though, the streets were fairly quiet except for the taverns that were open through the night. Spawning underage intoxication, loud calls, and the occasional drunkard stumbling down the streets singing some bar melody in a terrible off-key voice. All of these noises though, fell on dead ears and Frost curled up into herself and fell asleep.

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"I'se still don' gets it," Skittery said scratching his head. "Why's can't we'se jus' bust in dere an' gets 'im out?" 

"Dat's a great idea Skit, an' whiles we'se at it, why don' we'se go out an' buy ouah self some handcuffs so we'se don' havta waste dere's?" Spot asked sarcastically and Skittery's face fell.

"Don' mind him Spot," Kid Blink offered.

"Yeah, dumb an' glum, dats all dis boy is," Racetrack added under his breath.

"I ain't all dat dumb," Skittery muttered, as he moved off to sulk in a corner.

"So yous sayin' dat in 'bout a week oah so da mayoah is goin' ta be goin' ta da Refuge?" Dutchy asked respectfully.

"Yeah, he's goin' ta be dere ta inspect da place, an' dat means dat da wahden's goin' ta have da place all clean an' da kids ah goin' ta be fed dat day," Spot spat on the ground.

"I'se still don' see how dis is goin' ta get Cowboy outta da joint," Racetrack took a drag on a new cigarette.

"Da mayoah is goin' ta give a ride ta ouah friend Sullivan," Spot explained. "Good o' Cowboy's goin' ta ride outta dat place with Teddy Roosevelt, an' befoah Snydah knows whot's happened, he's goin' ta be long gone," Spot clarified.

"I'se still don' get it," Kid Blink scratched his head.

"Yous don' havta get it, lets jus' hope dat Cowboy does," Spot growled, the conversation was over.

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//Out of mind,

Out of state,

Trying to keep,

My head on straight…//

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The exhilarating feeling of her mouth under his sent shivers down his spine as he wrapped his arms firmly around her torso. Without the slightest struggle, she melted against him, molding every curve of her body to his. She clung to him madly as they tried to find some way to be closer, always wanting to be closer. Hungrily, he tasted her, never wanting to let her go, then he lifted his head to catch a much-needed breath before whispering the fated phrase.

"I love you."

Gasping for breath, Spot shot upright in bed. Gripping the blanket on his bed and blinked in the darkness. Looking around in the pitch of the bunkroom, he was slowly teleported back to Brooklyn. Lying back down, he calmed his erratic breathing and let out a heaving sigh. Whatever the dream had been about, he wasn't sure, he didn't even know who he had been kissing.

Wiping a hand over his face, he tried to close his eyes and forget about it, but it was quite impossible. In the night, he listened to the wind whipping outside, and the sound of the breathing newsies around him. Neither comforted him, or lulled him back to sleep as he kept hearing his own voice breathing the words that froze his heart in his chest.

I love you.

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Morning came without mercy and without warning. The sun rose as a great crimson ball over the city and the citizens that were awake, watched it in awe. A red sun of such a bright hue in the morning was especially rare. For the sailors, it meant poor weather. For everyone else, it simply meant that morning had come and another day of work was to be done.

Out on the streets, Spot couldn't help but look for Frost in every place he wandered. The papers that he held in the crook of his arm went unsold as he was too sidetracked to focus correctly. The night had been long and cold for him, as he hadn't slept after the dream. In fact, he could swear that he still felt the searing kiss pressed against his mouth. Eerily haunting, and the strange day wore on. 

When lunchtime arrived, he still had over half of his papers left to sell, but he was frozen to the bone. The sailors weren't the only ones that had to worry about bad weather, the newsies did too. Cold, cutting winds blew down upon the earth mercilessly as the ragged army tried to make a day's living. Hungry raged in their stomachs as they tried to figure a way to eat and have money for board.

This would be the third day that Spot hadn't eaten anything, maybe that had accounted for his foul mood the day before. Being without a decent meal for several days could do that to a guy. It really didn't matter now did it? Frost was gone she would be gone forever now. Where she had gone, it really didn't matter because there was no reason to care, was there? Caring and curiosity weren't the same things, though, he was merely curious as to where the girl had gone out of New York. 

The idea struck him as funny somehow. Leaving New York? Maybe he would try it sometime…. Right now though, all he could do was hope that by buying himself lunch he wouldn't waste all of his money for his board tonight. If he did, he knew of a few people that owed him money. Stepping into a low-class diner, he sank into a wooden, straight backed chair. The table in front of him wobbled and had crack large enough that Spot could stick his fingers between them. Appearance didn't matter much when you were starving though, so Spot read the meal options off of the black chalkboard menu. With his budget, there wasn't all too much he could get, but at least he could eat.

A waiter came over and Spot ordered, then watched the groups around him laugh and talk. There were young couples, businessmen, factory workers, and even a few other newsies that he chose not to join. The conversations swirled around him, and he picked up different parts as he listened distantly.

"The sun was red this moahnin'. I be sayin' that theah wos bloodshed last night!" 

"If we added this to the market, it would improve circulation."

"This June will be poyfect foah da weddin'."

So on and so forth the conversations droned on around him, nothing seemed to interesting. Again, he had no want to know about anything anymore, life had lost its flavor. For awhile, Frost had distracted him from the thoughts of his doom, or demise, she had added interest. It was almost ironic that he had enjoyed the challenges she had given him and the questions to his authority. So long had it been since anyone had even tried to do that, that it was refreshing. Though it didn't matter now, she was gone.

With that sobering thought, his meal arrived and he started it hungrily. Even though the bread tasted like dust in his mouth, he choked down the whole sandwich. It felt good to have a full stomach finally. Leaving a few coins on the table, he picked up his stack of papers and headed back out onto the cold streets. 

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//A halfway happy ending,

A distorted faerytale,

The truth comes to light,

They don't come true…//

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Cold. Extreme cold. That is what she remember next, and all she wanted to do was sleep some more, but something in the back of her mind made her wake up and move. Every movement her frozen limbs made ached, and she hated herself for leaving Brooklyn. Why couldn't she have waited till the next morning to leave? 

Groaning, she sat up and tried to remember where she was. Then it all came back to her. The fighting, the harsh words, the leaving without a way back, walking all night, Coney Island, it was all there. Rubbing her throbbing temples, she stood on wobbly legs. It was mid-day and she needed to find the lodging house before the night came again. 

If she could just make enough money, she could leave New York for good. A few more dollars here and there and she would be able to leave. Yet, even though she was so close to her goal, something held her back. Though her mind pressed onward, her heart held her back. Did she really want to go?

Muttering to herself, she forced herself to walk out on the busy streets of Coney Island. 

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Being small and fairly nondescript had its values in certain times, as Spot well knew. The plan had been formulated for the escape of Cowboy Sullivan, but the problem was he didn't know anything about it. The man who ran the Manhattan lodging house, known as Kloppman, had given them some blank paper and a piece of lead. Somehow, they had managed to write out the basic plan on the paper. The spelling was bad, and the words were simple, but the idea would hopefully get across.

Now the only problem to work out was how to get this letter to the Cowboy. 

Spot had it figured pretty clearly, but it all rode on him accomplishing it correctly. How he would do so, was now up to him as he tucked the folded paper into his pocket and left the Manhattan lodging house. However he had to do it, he would. Walking towards the House of Refuge, a plan was already forming in his mind.

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The lodging house in Coney Island turned out to be an old warehouse that someone had put several bunks in. A crude wall that seemed that it might fall over if you pushed on it too hard separated the shared bath. A distinct musty smell was in the air and Frost felt very uncomfortable the instant she entered. A greasy man about the age of forty came over to greet her.

"Can I'se help you?" He asked politely, his fake cheesy smile almost revolting.

"I'se heah ta bunk," she said plainly.

"We ain't got a special place foah goils," he warned.

"I ain't got no prol'em wit' dat," Frost answered. "Ya got a bunk foah me?"

"Ten cents a night," he held out his hand.

"Ten cents?" She exclaimed.

"Dats right, if ya don' like it yous can go somewheah else," he responded calmly, and Frost knew it was useless to argue. In fact she was surprised that more lodging houses didn't over charge like this one. No doubt the extra five cents was going directly to his pocket.

"Ain't ya goin' ta ask me if I'se a newsie?" She quirked up one of her eyebrows, not pursuing the other subject.

"Don' havta be a newsie ta stay heah, just gotta be able ta pay me," he held out his hand and waited for Frost to dig into her pocket and place one thin dime on his palm. "Right dis way," he smiled greedily and Frost followed.

Something told her she wasn't going to like it here.

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Three days passed and nothing of much consequence occurred in either Coney Island or Brooklyn. Spot had been more moody lately and the whole borough had noticed, surprisingly. The master of cloaked emotions was still hiding them fairly well, but he had been more secluded lately. This was how it had been before Frost had come, and now it was like it again.

Back on Coney Island, Frost had now changed her name once more. This time it was Blackjack for her superior knowledge and knack at the game. Coney Island, being known for betting and gambling, was rank with card players. This was the perfect alias for such a place.

The weather had thawed slightly, but was still bitterly cold. The bitter north winds had faded and had been slowly shifting to a more southerly blast. Warmer air was welcome, but it was still far from being anything but cold and icy. 

In the time that Frost had spent in Coney, she discovered the reason the man didn't care if you were a newsie or not. The lodging house was for factory workers and shoe-shiners as well as newsies. All three of the groups bound into one. Factory workers in this part of Coney weren't as numerous as the other territories, but there were still a good number of them. Girls and boys alike shared the one large room and the one large bathroom. One thing to be said for the Coney Island Lodging house was that there certainly wasn't any chance of getting lost inside.

No one had bothered to ask Spot about Frost's sudden disappearance, not even Outsider. Maybe it was because they all feared for their lives. Again the late night walks to the bridge had become an every night event, but he hadn't gotten up the desire to actually commit the act. Something was holding him back, but he wasn't sure what. Or maybe he knew all too well….

A leadership meeting was to be held that day in Manhattan, and Spot wasn't looking forward to the rendezvous. A worthless afternoon of playing poker with money he didn't want to lose seemed a trivial thing in his eyes. A welcome distraction maybe, but most definitely worthless. Secretly he wondered if Brink would be there and a sarcastic smile played his lips. At least he hadn't been the only one to fall under that witches spell.

After lunch though, Spot headed towards the Brooklyn Bridge to go to Manhattan Island. Maybe something worthwhile might come of this meeting. Then again, maybe not.

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Being Saturday, the races were packed. Even in the cold weather, some of the braver jockeys got out their horses and promised the races to the people. The things that a person would do for a few lousy dollars… it was almost disgusting. The ground was thawing, but still slick with the melted ice, but mud never stopped a race.

Frost had never been to a race before, a real one at least. Some of the newsie from the group had convinced her to go with them, and she knew it was probably a mistake. Sheepshead Races was a big place, but there was always a chance she could run into someone that would be best if they didn't know where she was. Perhaps this race was spontaneous enough that word of it didn't get out very far.

So with dragging feet, she went. The boys that she went with were all years younger than she, except for one was. His name was Dices. Finding a fancy for her, Dices had followed her around since the first day. At least after his job at the factory was over. Today he had taken the day off, insisting that she do the same.

Tired and knowing that he would probably lose his job for what he had done, she humored him and went with him to the races. Though she couldn't afford to bet anything, she did enjoy watching the horses run. Their fluid grace and unadulterated power was beautiful to behold as they flew around the turns, their skin glistening in the mid-march sun.

The character of Blackjack was different than that of Frost in that she was more open and warm than Frost had been. A false past she had created and molded her character to it perfectly. So when Dice wrapped his arm around her shoulder, Frost would have shaken it off, but Blackjack didn't. Though she didn't attempt to remove his arm, she didn't lean into his embrace. So time progressed, and the day seemed to be looking up for Frost. 

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Reaching the Manhattan lodging house, he saw that all of the other leaders were already there. Even Brink had come that day from Queens, surprisingly. Coin and Tips were there from Harlem and the Bronx. Jack was there representing the upper-east side of Manhattan, and Eagle was there from the only other real Manhattan power, the south-side. As always, the Coney Island newsies weren't represented.

"Heya Jackie-boy," Spot greeted the one that he associated with most frequently first, taking off his ragged glove and trading the customary spit-shake. 

So the greetings went that Spot then turned to Eagle, then to Brink, then Coin, and finally to Tips. Something dark flashed in Spot's eyes when he confronted Tips though, the story that Frost had told him still played fresh in his mind. Now was not the time to speak of such things though, and now as not the time to remember Frost's little story telling. None of them mentioned Spot's face as the bruises were still fading, coloring his skin a strange sallow yellow.

"So why's we all standin' out heah?" Spot asked after the hellos had been said.

"We'se goin' ta da races taday Spot," Jack explained, lighting a cigarette. "Racetrack says dat dere's some racin' goin' on down at Sheepshead taday, an' we'se goin' ta go," he clarified.

"Ain't dat place closed?" Spot inquired.

"Nah, dey open it evah once in awhiles," Jack shook his head. "But we'se bettah staht walkin' if we'se goin' ta get dere," he ordered and the rest of them agreed. So off went the leaders of several boroughs, all walking together, but all of them seeming to be long to different groups. Especially the short boy with brown hair, walking with his gold tipped cane at his side.

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By five o'clock, the races were finished. The darkening sky enough to discourage the crowd from wanting more. Even though she hadn't been able to bet, Frost had to admit that she had a fairly good time. Dices wasn't the brightest boy, or the handsomest, but he was pleasant to be around, and wasn't demanding or pushy. Being with leaders most of her life, she was used to the commanding presence or the attitude that so often accompanied leadership. Staying with an average male might just work out. 

The younger boys, who were all older than ten, but younger than thirteen, had awhile back. The races could be fun, but for a long period of time, restless young boys quickly got bored. Maybe the key to the afternoon had been the good company, and the enjoyable conversation that hadn't been forced. 

Inside, Frost almost felt sorry for Dices because she knew that she wasn't going to be able to stay around much longer and she wasn't going to be able to let anything really happen between them. All she was using him for was to keep the other boys at bay so nothing would happen to her.

Standing, stretched slightly and Dices smiled at her. True that he wasn't bad looking with a shock of red hair and light blue eyes, but he wasn't handsome. The boyish smile that he held made him look much younger than seventeen almost eighteen, and the freckles across his face made him look all the more youthful.

"I'se had a nice time," Frost said politely, knowing that Blackjack would say that.

"I'se glad," Dices smiled, standing with her and he tried to put his arm around her again, but she carefully avoided it. 

"I'se gotta go do a couple t'ings, but Is'll see yous at da lodgin' house tanight? A'ight?" She asked, patiently, not wanting to press the idea that she wanted to be alone for awhile.

"I'se can come wit'choo," Dices offered. "Ya might need some help," he suggested and she smiled sweetly for him.

"Nah, Is'll be fine, I'se promise," Frost, now Blackjack, kept smiling.

"Ah yous shuah?" Dices frowned and Frost knew that she needed to sweeten the deal a little bit.

"I'se shuah," she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly as she spoke into his chest. "Is'll see yous tanight," she looked up at his surprised face. "Right?" She asked over the crowd noises as several people brushed past them, trying to get out of the crowded area.

"Yeah," he looked down stupidly at the face of the short girl in his arms, as she looked up at him expectantly.

"A'ight," Frost said, pulling his head down and planting a kiss firmly on his cheek. "Is'll see yous tanight," she promised and stepped back from him, enjoying the look on his face. "G'bye," she said and waved with a small giggle, the rolled eyes once she turned away. Hopefully she would be able to leave soon, very soon.

The truth was that she saw this crowd as the perfect opportunity for a quick pickpocket job. Tired and just wanting to get home, the people around her probably had money because though betting was illegal, everyone did it if they could. If she was lucky, she might be able to get enough money for her train fare. Weaving though the crowd, she slipped her hands into several pockets and managed to garnish several dollars. Smiling, so very pleased with herself, she reached into one final pocket, but to her horror, the man from whom she was stealing turned suddenly and caught her.

"Whot ah yous doing?" he roared and Frost cowered away from him.

"Nuttin'," Frost denied. "I'se soahy if I'se bumped inta yous mistah," she apologized.

"Yous weah tryin' ta steal me money ya little urchin!" he accused, having seen her hand in his pocket and knowing that she had been doing so.

"Listen suah, I'se ain't stealin' from nobody," she started to back off, already spending too much time here with this man and desiring to melt into the crowd.

"Oh no," he said when he saw her backing away. Grabbing her by the arm, the large man held her hostage. "We'se goin' ta take yous ta da police an' get yous da punishment yous desoyve," he growled and Frost looked around desperately for an escape but only saw the accusing stares of those around her. 

Then, she saw someone that she never thought she would have seen here today and her heart jumped to her throat. She'd rather go to the refuge instead of have him help her, but he had already seen her and she knew it. Of all the places, why did he have to be here right now?

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Spot hadn't enjoyed the races, his mind had wandered too much for him to pay attention to the horses as they sped down the tracks and around the corner. It was too cold for him to like sitting on the damp benches as the moisture soaked into his clothes, chilling him. Though he had been able to steal someone's full cigarette holder, he hadn't enjoyed the nicotine as he had coursed through his veins either. Over all, Spot had a lousy time. 

Standing before the rest of the boys, he walked away from the group and noticed that not one of them asked where he was going. Smoking a cigarette he walked aimlessly through the crowds that milled about, not interested in sitting either. Nothing of interest ever happened at these races, but now that he was here, he was going to stay. After the races were finished, people surrounded him as they surged past and he stuck his hands into a few of their pockets, enjoying the sound of the change he had stolen as it jingled in his pocket. 

The happy sound was nearly drowned out by the drone of the crowd, but it was still there. It was completely drowned out by the sound of a man's angry voice raised over the commotion of the crowd. Interested in what was happening, Spot made quick to get to the area where the shouting had been heard and saw that a small circle had been formed around a man and a girl. The girl was obviously in trouble of some sort and Spot smirked. Another amateur pickpocket getting caught, how sad. His smirk changed to a mask of disbelief as the girl turned her head and scanned the crowd, making brief eye contact with him.

It was Frost.

Unsure of what to do, Spot gaped for a moment. Should he help her? Of course he should help her, but did he want to? Something inside of him told him that he shouldn't, that she deserved this, but something else told him to get himself over there and help her. She wouldn't want him to help her though, would she? No she wouldn't she was just as proud as he was, and the idea of going against her will brought him secret delight. So parting the circle he entered and walked right up to the man.

"Excuse me suah," he tapped the burly man on the shoulder to get his attention. "Let go of my cousin!" He exclaimed, not quite sure of what to do or say in this situation, but tha was what he thrived off of.

"You knows dis goil?" The man asked, pointing to Frost.

"O' coyse I knows her," Spot acted offended. "She's me cousin."

"Did yous know dat youah cousin heah's a pickpocket?" the man charged and Spot acted surprised.

"Jane, you ain't no pickpocket ah yous?" Spot turned to Frost and gave her the name Jane. Frost shook her head, refusing to meet Spot's eyes. "See, she ain't no pickpocket," Spot offered his proof to the man.

"I'se caught her wit' her hand in my pocket!" The man insisted, keeping a firm grip on her.

"Did she take anyt'ing from yous?" Spot asked.

"No, I'se caught her afore she could," the man answered proudly.

"Ya gotta undah stand somet'ing 'bout Jane, mistah," Spot tried to explain. "She ain't got da best mind," he said and Frost sent him a venomous glare. 

"My mind's jus' fine!" She said sharply, and Spot gave her a warning glance.

"Ya see? She don' even know it," Spot lamented. "Sad ain't it?" He shook his head and look at Frost sadly, she was fuming. "Since her ma got sick an' needs a doctah she's been woykin' double shift at da fact'ry tryin' ta get a doc foah her," Spot took his hat off of his hand and put it over his heart. "God rest her soul," he bowed his head for a few seconds for reverence. 

"Yous da one dats crazy!" Frost shot in Spot's direction but he paid no attention.

"When she woah woykin' in da fact'ry somet'ing hit her on da head good an' evah since she ain't been da same," Spot wove his tale of woe, and the man looked back and forth between the two, thoroughly confused. On the girl's part, she seemed to have deep feelings towards this boy, what they were rather hard to tell. Because even though the hard words and the dirty looks, there was something different under those frighteningly dark eyes.

"Is her ma dead?" The man asked, his constitution on the matter obviously wavering.

"Yes suah," Spot dropped his voice. "But ya see, Jane don't seem ta know dat," he explained. "She still t'inks dat her muddah is heah an' dat she's gotta get moah money foah da doc," Spot looked at Frost with a piteous glance, and she made an obscene gesture with her hand. Spot pretended not to notice. "She's lives wit' me an' me family now," Spot continued and looked up at the man. "So ya see suah, she didn' do it ta spite ya, she did it ta save her muddah, God rest her soul."

The crowd around them was quiet as they watched the scene around them unfold and the man looked down at the girl he held by the arm and then at Spot then back at Frost. Seeming to be battling whether or not to release her or not, the man looked around the crowd and one woman finally cut through the crowd and stepped into the scene.

"You let dis goil go now Harold," she insisted.

"But Mahge, she's nuttin' but a thief!" he reminded.

"I don' cahah, da poah goil is scahed ta deat' an' she ain't got nuttin' o' youahs," she reminded and the man's grip loosened slightly. "All da way Harold," she woman put her hands on her hips and the man finally let go of her arm. "I'se soahy 'bout dis," the woman said to Frost and Spot, smiling warmly. "My husband heah's got a tempah," she looked sternly in the direction of the man who was now looking very sheepish.

"Dats okay," Spot answered quickly, taking Frost by the hand. "Let's go Jane, faddah will be wond'rin' 'bout us," he turned and pulled her after him, melting into the crowd. When they were a good ways away from the happenings of this event, Frost ripped her hand from Spot's and glared at him menacingly before making moves to run away. Spot grabbed her hand again, holding her with him, when she tried to pull away her hand again, he grabbed her wrist.

"Why'd ya havta go an' do dat?" She hissed, struggling against his grip.

"Whot, ya mean help ya?" Spot was surprised.

"Yeah, I'se had it undah control," she glared at him. "Lemme go!"

"Not from whot I'se saw," Spot pointed out, smiling inwardly at her futile struggles. 

"Well yous nevah been good at seein' da obvious," she retorted.

"Whot's dat supposed ta mean?" Spot's eyes narrowed.

"Nevah mind," Frost sighed heavily and managed to jerk her wrist away, but Spot caught her arm.

"Yous sellin' heah on Coney now?" he asked and Frost rolled her eyes.

"I ain't in Brooklyn Spot, I don' havta play by youah rules no moah," she reminded and he knew it to be true. "But why's you heah on Coney?" she asked, suddenly curious and knowing that she probably wouldn't be getting away any time soon.

"I'se had a meetin' wit' some o' da boys," Spot explained and suddenly remembered about all of the other newsie leaders. Practically, if any of them saw Frost, there could be trouble. A lot of trouble.

"Whot oder boys?" Frost asked inquisitively, hoping that the casual conversation might loosen his grip.

"Get outta heah," Spot let go of her arm and gave her a light shove.

"Whot?" She looked confused. "Why?" She questioned.

"Jus' go!" Spot growled and she looked like she was going to ask more questions when a voice came over them that sent a chill down their spines.

"Cowgoil?"

They both turned to see who had asked that, though it was already too clear whom it would be. The tall boy looked just like Frost remembered him. Still the same tall boy with piercing hazel eyes and dusty black cowboy hat hanging down on his back. It was Jack. 

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A/N: I was out of town all weekend and I've been sick. I'm sorry it took so long for such a stupid short annoyingly bad update. You have every reason to hate me and not to review, because I suck. Man, why did I even post this update? AGH, I hate this chapter. . : * Points a gun at the chapter and fires * : . Die! Die! Or maybe I should just die, man this is depressing. I've never been this discontent with my writing before. I don't know you all, this might be the last of this story, I don't know if I can finish it.

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Silent Breeze: Well, well, well, you silly little thing you. I make you laugh? Well that is a first, everyone in my family just tells me to shut up when I crack a joke. Oh well, maybe we understand each other a little better than others do. Yeah, the last chapter was kind of sad, but this one isn't that bad, or maybe it was… I don't know I am just the author. It's not like I wrote it, or breathed life into it, or devoted countless hours to its development or anything! *please take this time to note the extreme sarcasm in which I speak - er - type* I liked how I made Stanton Island different from the rest. I figure, if any of the borough of any of the territories are going to be different, it is going to be Stanton. They are kind of isolated away on the little island of theirs, the hermits! Duke is cool, but I really didn't feel the chemistry between them, there weren't any fireworks from the kiss, but that is okay. They were friends, but not intimate. Frost can't have all of those men! I agree, if I had to pick between Coin and Duke, I would pick Coin, mainly because I am good at poker, not so good at chess. Ha, ha, anyway, how can you like Coin better than Spot? I might just have to have Coin die for that! *laughs evilly* (you: nooooooo!) There wasn't that much making up in this chapter was there? Darn those muses, I don't think they can be bribed. Scary guy is back! Oh no! Nah, don't kill the love-child sister thing. I think it is really funny! Everything in moderation is good. BTW, my igloo is pretty darn good. I can fit three adults in there, all sitting cross-legged. ^_^

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Ali: Hello silly, silly Ali. *Wags her finger at you* How dare you not review my story! I review yours. *Tear* I guess I am just not good enough. Ha, ha, someone actually reads my author's notes? Man, I was starting to wonder. I love the snow too, but I don't live in Canada so I don't get that much! *Joins the snow-dance with you and forces her little muses to dance too* I think it is funny that I can make my muses dance a stupid snow dance, but I try to make them write fluff and well… it doesn't work. You like my frosty Frost? Yeah! That is the point! You are supposed to like her! Magnificent, eh? *runs for her dictionary to look up the big word* Ah ha! *finds the word* Well, thank you! Ha, ha, I have that problems with adoring Spot a little too much too. Darn it! I can't tell you if she will come back, but you never know… The muses run wild with plot twists all of the time, don't they? Agh, you hate me? Well then, fine, be that way! Humph! Nah, I know you love me. ^_^ Well, we just don't know if we will ever find out what happened between Jack and Frost. _I _am not sure what happened between Jack and Frost, those darned muses won't tell me! I think I will take that badge to the this-is-pathetic-i-cant-even-fall-in-love-with-real-people-i-have-to-pick-a-fictional-character club. I think I am going to be the president of that club. I have never had a serious crush on a real person, but the ones that are fake, anything from cartoon characters to movie actors, I have obsessions. But we're not going to go into that right now…. I have to make this one angst though, it has angst as one of the main genres! Sorry!

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Fallen Phoenix: I can't die? Oh darn… you mean I actually have to finish this thing? Gosh darnit! Wait, your story is going to fast, then too slow, then to fast, or my story? If anything, this story is going too slow. Ha, ha, yeah, they did have a 'big' fight. Shockingly though, no blows were exchanged. Well, I proved you wrong, no rapists, and the big scary eye-patch boy didn't get her. I am not that predictable am I? Ha, ha, just when you think you have me figured out, you umm… don't! 

I can't wait to read more of your stuff, so keep writing! Thanks for the review. ^_^

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Ireland O'Reily: I am glad that I refreshed your mind. Maybe I have refreshed it once more with this update. Ha, ha, probably not, but hey, does that really matter? Yep, Frost is leaving, for now that is. Well, she didn't leave New York… yet. Who knows you and I both know that she isn't around in **Blind Spot**, but I shouldn't bring that up? Yeah, some people actually are reading this one first, and then going to read **Blind Spot**. You know the really patient people that actually can wait for something like that. *Cough* not me *cough* I don't know how Frost stayed on Stanton that long either. I think it was the lack of boats going to other places than Harlem and Queens. Yes, there is definite chemistry between Emily and Spot, but we don't get into that till later. Right now we are focusing on some very different sparks that are flying between two very stubborn newsies! Good luck on midterms if you haven't already taken them…. ^_^

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Skittles: American Idol, eh? I've never watched it. Ooh, story postage! Hmm… sounds like it could be an interesting plot, but um, wasn't the Refuge for boys only? I don't know. I am stupid, but it seems like it was just for guys. I like funny stuff too, but I am not that good at writing it. I am good at angst... and angst... and angst... and oh wait, did I mention angst? Read Bloodflame, eh? I've been thinking about checking it out, but right now I am too busy to sit down and read such a long story on the computer screen. Maybe over spring break or something, when I have time. ^_^ Yeah, it pretty much takes a personal crisis like all of my files being deleted to keep me from a regular update on these stories. I am darn faithful, you all should love me to death! Ha, ha, well, take care, and thanks for the review. ^_^

You probably shouldn't bother reviewing because honestly I don't think I will keep up with this story. It is a thorn in my side, the same with **Blind Spot. **I HATE THIS CHAPTER! I hate my writing, and I hate this story! Maybe I am just grumpy today, darn PMS….


	11. Memories

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: This part of the story is about Frost remembering her time in Manhattan. Bear with me because I really have no idea where this is going to go and I just got home from hockey practice. AKA: Two hours of what our coach likes to call 'hell drills.' My legs still feel like they are on fire, so this chapter could be the result of the bad after effects of PMS and hell drills. Hmm… this could be interesting….

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Warning: I think this is PG for mild swearing and a few sexual terms… like whore.

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Chapter 10: Memory

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Keep in mind that all of these things happen before the strike occurred.

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//Midnight,

Not a sound from the pavement,

Has the moon lost her memory?

She is shining alone….//

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Manhattan, January 2nd, 1899

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Duchess hadn't been able to find the lodging house the first day she had arrived. In fact, she hadn't even been able to find a single newsie. Perhaps the late night activities had been too much for them, so she had spent the night on the street. It didn't really matter to her though, she had done it before and she could do it again. The cold weather made it harder to wake up though it was noon when she finally was up and about.

Freezing cold, hungry, and not in a particularly good mood, Duchess headed out onto the streets. Scowling, she scanned the crowds, looking for someone that might be able to help her find the lodging house. Then she spotted someone it was a boy newsie. He wasn't that tall, but he was of stocky build with dark curly hair evident under his gray cap. Taking a deep breath she took a deep breath and approached him with confidence that would have made Spot Conlon jealous 

"Hey boy," she called and he turned expectantly towards the voice.

"Buy a pape miss?" he raised his eyebrows hopefully and Duchess couldn't help but smile slightly. The large brown eyes that looked at her were innocent as she had once been, but Duchess suspected that this boy had an edge just like the rest.

"Nah, I don' wanna buy one," she shook her head slightly and the boy looked crestfallen. "I wanna sell dem," she informed and he looked back up at her and smiled.

"Yous wanna be a newsie?" he asked.

"Yeah," she was ready to defend her cause.

"A'ight," he nodded, seeming to accept the idea without another thought. "Ya evah sold afore?" At this question, Duchess snorted in disgust and the boy backed off. "Well, yous can sell wit' me taday," he offered and Duchess looked at him skeptically. "Common," he offered her a few of his papers. 

"Are yous jus' goin' ta give dem to me?" Duchess arched one eyebrow.

"Shuah," the boy extended his arm with the papers and Duchess eyed them suspiciously. "Jus' take dem," the boy gave an exasperated sigh and Duchess took them hesitantly.

"Is'll pay yous back," she promised and the boy merely shrugged before returning to his selling.

Over the course of the day, Duchess found out that the boy's name was Mush, or at least that was his selling name. Never once did she disclose any information about herself, but Mush seemed content with this. When their papers were gone, which was in about an hour, Mush looked up at the sky.

"It's gettin' late," he pointed out. "Ya wanna go get s'moah papes, oah call it a day?" he asked, putting his hands of his hips.

"It's youah money," she reminded and Mush looked at her with a goofy grin on his face.

"Yous right!" he exclaimed, he seemed to have just realized this. "I says dat we'se go back ta da lodgin' house," he started walking and Duchess simply followed. "Yous gonna love it heah," Mush promised. "All da oder goils ah real nice," he informed and an understanding struck Duchess. The reason that this boy had been so accepting to the fact that she was a newsie was that here in Manhattan. The way had already been made.

Upon arrival, it was clear that this place was definitely not in the best condition, upkeep wise. The dilapidated green sign with gold letters proclaiming the status of the building looked ready to fall apart. The cement stairs that lead to the door were cracked, and crumbling, and the door itself was in ill repair. Though, through all of the shortcomings of the building, there was something very welcoming about it.

Perhaps it was the soft glow through the dirty window, or the sounds of voices raised in jest that echoed through the door. Maybe it was the tales that Mush had been relating about all of the boys. Though she hadn't really been listening, each one of them sounded like they were going to be very different from what she was used to. It all could have been accredited to the fact that Duchess always looked forward to the idea of forging a new name for her. 

All of it was a game to her, seeing who she could fool the longest and how long she could fool herself into believing that she really was who she made herself to be. The idea was childish, fickle even, but she enjoyed the chance to escape from who she really was. For when she remembered whom she was that the nightmares returned.

The warped old door was pushed open by Mush and the gentle glow became brighter and the warmth that had reflected in its color was transformed into a wonderful reality. As the heat wrapped itself around her like a delicious blanket, Duchess let her tense shoulders relax against the wonderful feeling. Greetings were called out from different parts of the room as their friend entered. Somehow, this almost felt like a home.

"Hey Mush, who's da broad?" Called a boy with dark brown hair and a cigarette hanging from in between two fingers.

"Dis heah is, uh…" Mush started, then realized that he didn't know her name. Turning to her, Mush saw that his formally relaxed companion was nearly livid with anger.

"Did yous jus' call me a broad?" She growled out to the boy across the room and he looked surprised at the challenge.

"I called ya whot I called ya," he took a long drag off of his cigarette and blew out the smoke in a slow deliberate breath.

"Den why don' ya get up of youah ass an' say it ta me face," She challenged and the boys large brown eyes grew even larger as the whole room gasped.

The challenged boy didn't say anything but looked at her for awhile, seeming to invite her to back down or withdraw her invitation for a fight, but she didn't. So with very exaggerated motions, he handed his cigarette to the boy next to him, and stood ever so slowly. It was then that Duchess thought she might have made a mistake. Surely this boy was one of the taller she had seen in the newsie ranks, and she sized him up quickly. Taking off his cap, he tossed it to the side and came to face off with the pint-sized girl who had insulted him.

"I'se up," he looked down at her, obviously trying to intimidate her with his superior size. "Now whot yous goin' ta do 'bout it?"

Holding up her hand to gesture that she needed a few moments, she pulled off her coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, tossing them all to the side and then cracking her knuckles slowly. Shaking her head so that her long braid fell down her back, she brushed a few stray strands away from her face. Then with a very impish smile, she looked up at him and batted her eyelashes in a flirt like manner before launching out her fist into his gut, catching him off guard.

A loud noise of the air leaving his lungs sounded and then the sickening sound of fists making contact with flesh. Perhaps he had been the one to misread this girl as she had come in. She packed a mean punch for someone so petite. When he gained back his wits, he straightened and began to fight back. She could take hits just as well as she could deliver them. The hits she took though were indirect as she seemed to be expert at dodging and blocking. The fight didn't last any longer than a few minutes when an older man and a tall boy broke into the ring that had formed around them.

"Help me get them, Cowboy!" the old man said and the tall boy grabbed Duchess, tearing her away from the taller boy.

"Easy Snoddy," The boy, labeled Cowboy instructed and the taller boy shot him a murderous glance, but it softened quickly. "Whot's dis heah fight alla 'bout?" he demanded and the whole room fell silent. "Ain't nobody gots nuttin' ta say?" He challenged, as he stood between the two, Kloppman by his side.

"Snoddy called da goil a broad an' she gots him ta fight," offered one girl, who was strangely tall and lanky for a female.

"Did yous staht da fight?" Cowboy asked Duchess and she looked at him, her eyes shooting fire.

"I wos protectin' me honah," she said haughtily. 

"Yeah, well, ya see dere ain't no fightin' in da lodgin' house," The tall Cowboy explained, looking at her with his strange hazel eyes. "If yous gots somet'ing ta settle ya gotta do it outside."

"Says who?" Duchess challenged and the Cowboy pointed to the old man by his side.

"Kloppman heah says so," he told her. "He owns dis joint."

"Yeah, so who ah yous ta be tellin' me whot ta do?" She challenged.

"Da name's Kelly, Jack Kelly," he introduced himself by spitting in his hand and extending it. "Who ah yous?" he asked as she spat in her own hand and shook his.

"I ain't got one dat I cahah ta shah," she made it a half-lie. "I ain't too fond o' da name me pahents gave me," she confided. "My ma gave me her name, but she's out west," she lied again, already setting up her false background with a well-practiced ease.

"Youah pahents ah out west?" Jack's eyebrows rose and his eyes flashed with interest. "Wheah out west?" he prompted and the boys around him groaned, apparently they had heard this before.

"Uh, dey weah goin' ta…" she thought hard for a name of anything 'out west.' "Santa Fe," she made up quickly, having heard the name and hoped that it was right. The way that this Cowboy's eyes shone when she said that told her that she had picked the right destination.

"Have yous evah been out dere?" Jack asked excitedly.

"Nah," she shook her head. "I wos stayin' wit' me aunt till dey comes back, but me aunt is somet'ing of a witch," she added to her story. "So I'se a newsie now," she tilted her head to one side, looking at him curiously. "Why ah yous so intahested in Santa Fe?" Duchess asked coyly and the way the boys around her rolled her eyes told her that this was old news.

"I'se goin' ta live dere someday," Jack said confidently. "It's da place wheah dreams come true."

"So is dat why dey call yous Cowboy?" she questioned.

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugged, smiling. 

"So I guess dat makes me a cowgoil," she reasoned and Jack looked at her curiously.

"A cowgoil?" he said it like the word was completely foreign in his mind, which it was. Back then, the woman took care of the homestead on the ranch, but not the animals. That was the man's job, a cowgirl was such an outrageous idea that it left him slightly flabbergasted.

"Yeah, an' dats whot yous can call me," she smiled in a flirt-like manner. "Cowgoil."

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//In the lamplight,

The withered leaves, 

Collect at my feet,

And the wind begins to moan…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

So the Cowgirl of Manhattan was born, and the group, boys and girls alike quickly accepted her. Only a few of the group didn't seem to like this quick-witted, flirty, spirited girl. One of which, and probably was the one that held the only real animosity to her, was Snoddy.

The first impression she had left on him had come in she shape of a series of bruises, on his body and his pride. As many know, it is dangerous to damage the pride of a man. The others that didn't seem to care for her were Bumlets, Jake, Skittery, Swifty, and Kid Blink and Racetrack's would be girlfriends, Snaps and Cards. Though Kid Blink and Racetrack took favor to the girl, the others on the list looked for any possible reason to dislike the new girl.

Two weeks had passed since her initial arrival and Cowgirl wasn't oblivious to the gossip that was flying around about her in that certain circle. Though, she knew it could be her undoing in the end, she could always run again. There were still other options as to where she could go if Manhattan fell through. The time for thinking about running was far from her now. This was the time for becoming the character she had already created. The illusion known as Cowgirl.

What an illusion it was, too. Easily, she had slipped into the fake world she had created. Drawing up her walls around her and blocking out any real chance at caring. Though she appeared to honestly care, things are rarely, possible never as they seem.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//Memory,

All alone in the moonlight,

I can smile at the old days,

I was beautiful then…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

Walking back to the lodging house under the cover of darkness, Cowgirl couldn't help but shiver against the late January cold. The pale light from the full moon above shone down upon the streets as she trudged on through the sludge. The two pieces of coal mounted in her face glittered in the dim lamplight as homeless children could be seen trying to find a place to sleep for the night. A few drunkards stumbled down the streets, singing an off key melody to which they didn't know the words. When these came past, she would duck into an alley or a shadow until they had passed. This action was practically habitual now as she had been living on the streets for several of her years. 

Sadness could be seen in those eyes, as black as the night that surrounded her. Strange that she would think of such things now, things of her past. The cities she had known and left. Two different places beside New York had known her presence. Richmond, Virginia and Trenton, New Jersey, obviously she favored capitals. Though New York City wasn't the capital of the state of New York, it might as well have been. 

Sighing, she thought of her times in the other places, and of her home in Virginia. Wondering, she pondered about the places she had known in her youth and wondered what they would look like if she returned. Most likely things would be much altered. Coming up to the lodging house, she readied herself to go inside and perform. For it was moments like these, when she could pretend she was someone else, that she felt the most alive. Maybe it was because the girl she had been had died a long with her past.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//I remember the time,

I knew what happiness was,

Let the memory,

Live again…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

Jack smiled when the girl came in. True she was no beauty, but she was street smart and sassy and he enjoyed that. If nothing else she was a good friend. Though if she was just a friend, why did he care when she flirted with the other boys? Brushing the thought aside, he called her over to the crate where he sat with some of the others playing poker. It was a different kind of poker that he had never played before, but Race insisted that it was better than the usual kind.

As she walked over with that confident smile on her heart-shaped mouth and a mischievous twinkle in her black eyes, Jack grinned and forgot to listen to the instructions Race was giving. As she sat next to him, she quickly picked up on what Race was saying and didn't even give a greeting to the Cowboy at her side. This annoyed him, but he pushed it from his mind, maybe she wanted to learn this game that he was supposed to be learned.

"So da cahds up in da middle ah called da flop," Race was explaining and something shifted in Cowgirl's eyes.

"Ah yous playin' Hell Knows?" she asked and Race looked at her questioningly.

"Ya mean Hold 'em? He asked and she shook her head.

"I loyned dis one called Hell Knows an' I t'ink it's da same t'ing," she went over and sat by the baffled Racetrack. "Heah, I'se a bettah teachah dan yous an' if I'se teachin' a differ'nt game, yous can stop me," she offered Racetrack nodded, handing her the cards.

So Cowgirl took them and began to explain the game. It turned out that Hell Knows and Hold 'Em were two in the same, and Racetrack was quite excited by the idea that someone else knew the game. The game was played in rounds. In the first, two cards were dealt face down to each player, then a round of betting takes place. The second round is where three cards, which can be used by anyone, are dealt face up in the middle of the playing surface. Another round of betting occurs before one more card is dealt face-up followed by more betting and the fifth and final face-up card is dealt. One more round of betting happens before all of the players use the two cards in the hand and whatever cards they chose in the center to make the best possible three card hand.

Racetrack won.

"Yous jus' won cause you knows da game," Kid Blink mumbled as Racetrack collected his money. 

"I'se can help da fact dat I'se got bettah brains dan yous," Racetrack gloated and Cowgirl giggled.

"So, Cowgoil, wheah'd ya loin ta play dis heah game?" Jack asked, curious.

"What?" she swiveled her head away from the flirty conversation she had been having with Snitch.

"Wheah'd ya loin ta play dis game?" he asked again, patiently.

"Oh, I picked it up somewhere, I don't remember where," she waved her hand in the air as if to dismiss it, but Jack caught something that no one else seemed to. The question had caught her off guard and she seemed to completely lose her Brooklyn accent.

"A'ight," he didn't point it out right then, but he knew that sometime he would have to talk to her about that. It was possible that she had been taught to speak properly, but reverted to the street speak to fit in. Or she could be from somewhere completely different than New York all together.

"So, who's up foah anoddah round?" she asked quickly, sensing a lull in the conversation.

"I'se in," Jack said readily.

"I'se out," Kid Blink shoved away from the makeshift table muttering something about losing all of his money and Cowgirl and Racetrack both started laughing.

This time, the game went more smoothly than before, now that everyone was better aquatinted with the rules. More than once Cowgirl had seen Jack looking at her with an unusual stare over the top of his cards, like he was trying to read her mind. The look was rather unnerving and made her very uncomfortable. Though she didn't show it, she was silently wishing Jack and his piercing hazel eyes to the bottom of the ocean.

After the final round of betting took place, the cards were shone to show that Racetrack had ruled victorious yet again. With a wide smile, he collected every cent that was meant for him oblivious to the grumbling around him. The option for another round of the game was open, but Cowgirl stood and smiled warmly, excusing herself. Though he wanted to talk with her, Jack stayed for one for round of the game.

"I knows why yous like dis heah game," Boots said to Racetrack as he observed from the side.

"Why's dat?" Race asked, lighting up what remained of his only cigar.

"It's fastah dan noymal pokah, an' yous can gets money fastah," Boots dark eyes flashed with merriment at the well-intended jibe and the circle of boys laughed merrily. All of them laugh, except for one that is. He was watching a girl across the room who was having a lively conversation with a boy with an eye patch.

He wasn't the only one watching the new girl and the boy converse. A pair of girls watched from the other side of the room, murder flashing in their eyes. One was strangely tall for a girl, probably over five foot eight, with short brown hair and eyes that matched. The other girl wasn't short, but she wasn't as tall as her friend. Her lively green eyes shone as she brushed back her dirty-blonde hair from them.

"Who does dis goil t'ink she is?" the taller one asked. "She can' jus come in heah an' floyt wit' whotevah boy she wonts ta," she folded her arms across her chest and Cowgirl stole Blink's hat and darted of with it.

"Yous right, Snaps," the shorter one agreed. "Did yous see da way she wos talkin' wit' me Race?" she snorted.

"Who cahahs 'bout Race, she jus' be playin' cahds wit' him," Snaps pointed out. "But looks how she's playin' wit' Blink!"

"Da goil musta been a whore afore she came heah," the shorter one growled and an evil light came into Snaps eyes.

"A whore, ya say?" Snaps smiled wickedly. "Whot if we'se could prove dat she wos a whore afore she came heah?"

"Whot?" The other exclaimed.

"Quiet Cahds, ya want evahybody ta heah?" Snaps motioned for her friend to keep her voice down. "But whot if we'se did?"

"If we'se made it so Cowgoil was a whore?" Cards frowned.

"Yeah, all we'se gotta do is find some goil dat is an' find out how who ta ask 'bout her," Snaps nodded eagerly as if to affirm her own plan. "You knows how much dese boys don' like whores," she smiled impishly and realization seemed to dawn on Cards.

"Ya mean like yous want her ta get kicked out?" Cards' eyes widened.

"Yeah," Snaps smiled and Cards seemed to think about it.

"Whot if we'se get caught?" Cards hesitated.

"Get caught doin' whot?" Snaps asked, incredulous. 

"I dunno, talkin' ta one o' da street walkahs," she shrugged.

"We'se talk moah 'bout dis latah," Snaps looked over at Cowgirl as Blink still was chasing her, trying to get his hat back. "But we'se goin' ta talk 'bout it," she promised, her eyes darkening with jealousy.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//Every street lamp,

Seems to beat,

A fatalistic,

Warning…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

A week or so past before Jack found a time to talk to Cowgirl about the slip of tongue. Medda was performing and he had invited her to go with him. The freshly fallen snow crunched under their feet as they walked in silence, neither one really knowing what to say. The street lamps flickered with a strange rhythm, casting waving shadows on the walls as they walked. Finally Jack broke the silence.

"Yous cold?" he asked politely.

"Nah, I'se a'ight," she smiled and they both continued walking, searching for something, anything to say.

Being unsure of how to bring up the topic that he wanted to, Jack stayed silent. Though his suspicion was unfounded and he really didn't have anything to suspect, he knew that she had slipped out of the common street accent. Even if had just been for a few instants, she had done so. Over and over he tried to figure out a way to rephrase the question so that it actually made sense. He still hadn't come up with anything when they came to the back entrance of the theater.

"In heah," he motioned and opened the door, Cowgirl sipped inside before him and he followed, closing the door behind him.

"What are you doing back here?" Came a soft feminine voice. "Get out!" a lively woman with bright red curls came down from her perch at the top of the stairs and Jack only smiled, stepping out of the shadows.

"I hoyd dat yous got a new show Medda," he started smoothly. "So I'se come ta watch da best perfoahmah in alla New Yawk," he complimented with a large smiled and the woman giggled as if she was a young girl.

"Oh Kelly," she said and Cowgirl watched this scene from the shadow with interest. "You always were the charmer," she started down the stairs and Jack met her half way, kissing her hand in a most debonair fashion.

"I brought a friend wit' me," Jack said, straightening as he escorted her down the stairs.

"A friend?" Medda arched a thin eyebrow and Jack beckoned for Cowgirl to come over, and she stepped out of the shadows. "Oh," Medda smiled knowingly. "That kind of friend," she cast a coy look in Jack's direction Cowgirl could have sworn he had blushed then. "Welcome," Medda turned to the girl and extended her hand that held a large blue plume.

"Cowgirl, dis heah is Medda Lahkson, da best perfoahmah on da stage taday," he boasted and Cowgirl guessed that if she hadn't been wearing so much make-up, she would have been visibly blushing. "Medda, dis heah is me friend an da newest o' da Manhattan newsies, Cowgoil."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, smiling genuinely and Cowgirl relaxed slightly.

"So, Medda, ya t'ink we'se can stay an' see yous tanight?" Jack pleaded jokingly and Medda looked at him with a stern face but her eyes were smiling.

"Maybe if you get on your knees and ask me nicely," she answered swiftly and Jack got down on bended knee and looked up at her with the utmost devotion and loyalty.

"Miss. Lahkson," he began. "Would yous be so kind ta grant me an' my friend heah a place ta see youah beautiful self perfoahm youah wondahful show?" he asked with greatly overacted humility and Cowgirl had a hard time not laughing.

"You forgot to say please," Medda prompted and Jack tilted his head to one side and looked up at her, with the most innocent look in his eyes.

"Please?" he asked, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout.

"All right," Medda agreed and Jack stood with a victorious smile on his face. Apparently this was a game that they played regularly. "You can watch from back here," Medda promised. "It's a full house out there tonight," she winked at Jack. "I have to go get ready, but make yourself at home," she smiled and with that turned and walked back up the stairs to what seemed to be her dressing room.

"So whot do ya t'ink o' her?" Jack asked Cowgirl once Medda had disappeared.

"She's differ'nt ain't she?" Cowgirl smiled when Jack laughed at her observation.

"Yeah, dere ain't nobody like Medda," he agreed and then reached over and took Cowgirl's hand in his own. "Common, Is'll show ya 'round."

So he did just that. It was early enough that the house hadn't been opened yet and the entire theater was empty. Except for the ushers that were waiting for the people to be allowed in. A man dressed as a clown wandered the isles aimlessly, holding a tray of treats and things that the people enjoying the show could purchase. A walking snack bar if you will.

Different things were going on backstage as the crew worked furiously making sure that everything was in place for the big debut. Stepping out onto the wooden planks that made up the stage, Jack still held Cowgirl's hand as they stood and viewed the large auditorium. The musicians in the music pit were warming up, and the whole place seemed to hum with energy. As they moved, Jack saw something that made him smile as an idea began to brew in his mind.

"Come heah," he pulled on her hand gently and led her over to a certain place on the stage. Bending over, he looked around to make sure no one was watching before reaching his fingers down into a few cracks in the boards and lifting. To Cowgirl's great surprise, it lifted with much ease, showing a trapdoor. With a wry grin, Jack took her hand again and pulled her down into the area under the stage with him before quickly shutting the door over them.

The place under the stage was a narrow, short space that forced you to bend over to walk. A few lamps lined the walkway, which was basically a clear space between several of the wooden supports that kept the stage from collapsing. The old wooden floor underneath looked worn and in sore need for repair, but it was rather exhilarating to be underneath the stage. Strange as that seemed, perhaps it was the rush of knowing that they could get caught, or the idea of doing something they had never done before. Whatever it was, it was fun and even in the pale lamplight, it was evident on their faces. They were having fun.

"I'se nevah been down heah," Jack confided as he looked around from his squat position.

"I'se nevah been ta a theahtah," Cowgirl replied. 

"Well it ain't dat great," Jack smiled. "But it's okay mosta da time."

"Yeah," Cowgirl said rather awkwardly, not sure what else to say.

"Well," Jack said after a long moment. "We'se should pro'ly get up dere afore the show stahts," he suggested and Cowgirl nodded. Just as they were about to lift up the door again, the first strains of the music could be heard and the roar of the crowd as the show began.

"Shit," Cowgirl muttered and Jack began to laugh, muffling it behind his hand. "We'se stuck down heah," she hissed, careful not to speak too loud.

"Nah, dere's gotta be anoddah way ta get outta heah," Jack insisted and reached for her hand again. "Common," he beckoned with his head and he moved along the way of the lamps. Through the cramped space, they practically crawled along, hoping to find an exit at the end of the tunnel. Above them, the steps of the performers could be heard along with their singing and the song from the music pit. As they moved along, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath them, Cowgirl listened to the sounds floating above them. The tune was soft a song about heartbreak, and it was decidedly beautiful in her mind. So lost in the music was she, that she nearly screamed when one of the boards beneath her snapped and her foot fell through. Expertly, she clamped her mouth shut just before the shrill noise escaped.

"Shit," she opted for soft swearing over the shout.

"Whot did yous do?" Jack hissed, turning around and letting go of her hand.

"Me foot is stuck in da floah," Cowgirl pointed and even in the dim light it was clear that it was definitely jammed.

"How'd ya do dat?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the music above them.

"Don' ask me, it jus' happened," she returned and looked him in the eyes. It was clear that a plan was already forming behind those piercing hazel orbs.

"Can yous pull it out?" he asked and she tried again, only to find that it caused her more pain.

"No," she shook her head and above the crowd burst into applause. She tried again, but nothing happened. "Could ya try an pull it out?" she asked once the noise of the clapping had receded.

"Not wit'out makin' a helluva noise," Jack grumbled, sitting and leaning against one of the poles near her as the next song struck up. This one was a livelier dance tune.

Silence passed between them as they both tried to think of a way to free her foot. Again and again, Cowgirl tried different angles to loose her foot just a little, but nothing worked. Finally, she managed to twist her leg so that with one good pull, she might be able to yank it out. Making a few low noises, she got his attention and jerked her head so that he would come closer to her.

"When da crowd claps again, pull me leg as hahd as yous can," she instructed and Jack looked at her worriedly.

"Is it goin' ta hoyt yous?" he asked.

"Don' mattah if it hoyts me, I'se pro'ly been hoyt woise," she informed and motioned for him to go down and grip her lower calf. "Jus' do it," she whispered and Jack looked at her strangely, wrapping his large hands around her thin leg.

Just as she had instructed, when the crowd began to clap, Jack yanked her leg and she let out an audible yelp as her foot jerked free and she toppled backwards. The sudden release of her foot had jarred Jack as well and made him lose his not very well-established balance. Falling forward he landed on top of her and both made a loud grunting noise. Thankfully, the lout applause from the crowd covered it. Propping himself up on his hands, Jack looked down at the girl beneath him worriedly.

"Ah yous a'ight?" he asked quickly, her only response was a little giggle. 

She must have been all right if she was giggling. Uncomfortable with the position that the sudden freedom had brought upon them, Jack hurried to pull himself away from her. Even if he didn't think he had any real intentions for her, he couldn't help but be what he was, and that was a man. Any situation with a girl underneath him had only led to trouble before and something told him it wouldn't stop with this girl. True, he was attracted to her, but that didn't mean anything, did it?

Brushing himself off, he watched as she sat up looking slightly dazed. Raising a hand to the back of her head, she mouthed the word 'ow'. Maybe she wasn't as all right as he had thought. Reaching out to her again, he took her hand and they made their way down the way again, careful to avoid the hole that she had created. Finally they found the end after was seemed a short eternity and there was a small door waiting. As slowly as could be, Jack eased open the latch and opened it. A small squeak was the only protest it offered when he did so. 

Together they stepped out into what seemed to be a backstage area and shut the small door behind them. It was relieving to stand and stretch their muscles, especially for the tall Jack. When they were out, Cowgirl let out a long sigh and stood very slowly. The soft sound of her exhaling brought Jack's attention to her hastily. 

"You a'ight?" he asked again, concerned.

"Yeah, jus' a lil' dizzy," she smiled weakly. "Dat tends ta happen when ya ain't been eatin' too good," she joked but Jack frowned.

"When wos da last time yous ate?" he asked, almost sounding like her older brother might have.

"Two days ago, maybe t'ree," she figured, but her head really hurt from hitting it on the floor.

"Dats too long," Jack speculated. "Tibbys should still be open…" he let his thought drift off, and she looked at him sternly.

"I ain't got no money foah food an' I ain't taken no charity," she still had some fire in her after all and it made Jack smile.

"I ain't given it," he shot back quickly.

"But I'se goin' ta watch da show," Cowgirl insisted and tried to move over to the place where she could see the stage, but Jack caught her around the waist with an arm.

"Is'll bring ya back any time yous want," he promised. "But we'se gunna go eat now," he took his arm from around her waist and put it around her shoulders, guiding her smoothly to the door.

The proposition of food sounded too good to argue much longer, so Cowgirl gave in and followed his lead. After they were redressed for the winter weather, they progressed into the cold night streets. It took about twenty minutes to walk to Tibbys, but they got there, and the warm light from the windows looked very inviting. When they were seated in one of the booths, Jack looked across at the girl opposite him.

"Ohdah whotevah yous wont," he told her plainly.

"Is'll pay yous back," she promised and he shook his head.

"Dis is a gift," he smiled crookedly. "But if yous really wanna pay me, Is'll let me," he said it as a joke and Cowgirl knew that he wouldn't ever take back any of the money.

"If yous don' lemme pay yous back, I ain't gunna eat," she threatened, but even with the faint smell of food wafting into her nostrils, her constitution was already wavering.

"Yous gunna eat," Jack smiled and she snorted.

"Whot makes yous so shuah?" she asked and he looked up as the waiter came over to take their order. Jack ordered for both of them.

"Yous gunna eat cause I'se ohdahed youah food," he said simply, taking a drink from the glass that the waiter had set in front of him.

"A'ight," she remembered what character she played and smiled sweetly. "Is'll eat it," she was thankful that she had decided to play a girl who was feisty, but sometimes docile.

"Good," Jack smiled again, but his smile was quickly erased as he remembered the real reason he had brought her out this night. So absorbed had he been in the fun they had been having, he had completely forgotten that he was going to ask her about the slipping from different accents. 

__

It pro'ly wos nuttin', he reasoned. _I pro'ly jus' hoyd wrong. Anyway, whot's I gunna ask her? _He wondered. _So, why'd ya talk all hoity-toity da oder night when yous weah playin' cahds? _He shook his head, knowing how stupid he sounded.

"Jack?" her voice snapped him back into reality. "Ah yous a'ight?" she asked the same question back to him.

"Huh?" he asked, adjusting his train of thought. "Oh yeah, I'se fine," he grinned wryly and she smiled back.

"Whot weah yous t'inkin' 'bout?" she asked and his mind raced.

__

It's now oah nevah, he told himself._ Ask her now!_

"I wos jus' wond'rin'," he paused. "How long it'll take foah oah food ta get out heah," he lied, and mentally began to curse. He had choked, but she smiled sweetly, probably believing what he had told her.

Jack never talked to her about that one incident, in fact, he never even thought seriously about bringing it up again. The event was over and he hadn't ever heard her speak that way again, so what was the cause to bring it up? Probably, he had just heard wrong. Something was very unnerving about this girl though. If she had been anyone else, he probably would have confronted her the instant she had done it, not waited a week and taken her out to talk about it. Was he so desperate to spend time with her alone, away from the other boys of the lodging house? No, he told himself, it couldn't have been that. Even thought he enjoyed her company, her quick-wit, her flirting, the way her hair shone in the light, or the way her smile seemed to light up her eyes…. No, it was nothing more than a friendship, wasn't it?

The question he was asking himself would be answered on the way back to the lodging house as they walked together under the night sky. It was strange how the moonlight could play with your senses, wasn't it? Neither one were quite sure how it happened, but neither one objected when they were wrapped in each other's arms. Gently, Jack kissed her, almost testing to see if she was willing. The result was her arms wrapping around his neck, drawing him closer and pressuring the kiss. The effect was numbing to the senses, as the stars seemed to fall from the sky and swirl behind their closed eyes. Exploding as they crashed into each other with terrible force, making the pair feel rather breathless.

Slowly, he pulled back, and looked into her eyes before taking her hand in his and walking down the street thought the cold night air together. Strange how the cold didn't seem to penetrate them as it had before. Also, it was strange how the ground didn't seem as solid as it had been before. Maybe the sky had fallen, because it sure felt like they were walking on air.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

Daylight,

I must wait for the morning,

I must think of the new life,

And I mustn't give in…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

Manhattan, May 1899

****

. : ^_^ : .

Day after glorious day passed as the couple became more and more inseparable. The two went on many rowdy escapades and caused the DeLanceys and the bulls more trouble than they had ever done before alone. Every day they seemed to have something new and different to talk about or some different episode to speak of. Strangely, through all of these different spots in time, the Cowboy never took his Cowgirl back to the theater. This didn't seem to matter though as they were having far too much fun in other activities to really care.

Even the best of stories must come to an end though, and sadly, so did this one. Snaps and Cards planted seeds in the minds of the boys, convincing them of the evils of this new girl. Though none of them had been able to validate these claims of the terrible wrongs this strange new Cowgirl had committed, the human mind tends to play tricks and make things larger than they truly were. Such was the case, as the gossip-mill served its wicked way and made everything much more complicated.

To say that the duo was completely oblivious to these events would be a lie, for they were quite aware. Acceptance, though, was a completely different issue. Slowly but surely, the welcome that had been so ready for Cowgirl became dim then disappeared. Would-be friends vanished, avoiding her all together, and Cowgirl was faced with another decision.

The acceptance that everyone craved was found only through the leader of the group and Cowgirl knew the precarious position in which this would put him. It could turn the whole group against him, and Jack loved being the leader. He had forged friendships here, real friends, and things that weren't easily made and weren't easily replaced. She on the other hand, had woven a web of lies, making several enemies along the way.

Her path was clear, and she knew that it would be the only one that she could take. Any other one would have Jack's group turn against him, and that wouldn't do. He deserved better than that. Besides, he hadn't fallen for the girl that she really was, he had fallen for the girl that she had pretended to be. So came the fateful night that she confronted him, telling him that she was leaving.

A fight had ensued, both of their tempers flying off the handle. Tears were shed, names were called, and he accused her of never caring for him. The truth way that she had cared for him, Cowgirl had possible loved him, but the girl that she really was, didn't. A sad combinations of opposites that were held together by thin strings of lies. So was the story of her life, the strangeness and sadness that plagued her days were wrought of her own doings. 

Feel sympathy for her if you like, pity her if you will, but know that all of this was brought forth by her own actions. If she realized this or not, it isn't for us to know, but she was most definitely responsible. The truth was that this girl was so caught up in her game, that it would take a terrible experience for her to see the wickedness of her ways. The terrible event that would be coming in her future and teach her to find a different way to hide from her pain. That, though, is for another time.

In the night after their argument, the Cowgirl waited for the whole lodging house to be quiet before she emerged from the shadows from where she had hidden. Creeping from behind the counter in the front entry, she silently moved up the stairs and even in the dark, she knew where Jack's bunk was. Stealthily maneuvering over the boards, avoiding the creaking ones she had come to know so well in the months she had spent there. 

When she arrived, she moved slowly, careful not to wake him as she looked over his peaceful face. The anger that had been so apparent there only a few hours ago was washed away in sleep. Absently, she brushed back a strand of hair from his eyes and smiled softly before moving to finish her task. For all she knew that would be the last time she would see him, but she would always have something of him. Completing what she had stayed to do, she exited as silently as she had come, her presence almost like that of a ghost. 

Opening the front door of the lodging house, she exited and walked down the street. A pack hanging on her back as she walked away from Manhattan, going to start a new life somewhere. In her hand she held the object for which she had stayed. The red fabric was old and dirty, the color faded by use, but it was still clear what she held. For even in the moonlight, one would see that she grasped a red bandana.

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Burnt out ends,

Of smoky days,

The stale cold smell

Of morning…//

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Coney Island, Sheepshead Races, March, 1900

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"Cowgoil?" A voice from her past startled Frost terribly as she whirled around to see someone she had least expected.

The piercing hazel eyes she had come to know so well stared at her with a terrible look of betrayal and disbelief. That same dark cowboy hat was on his head and she guessed that he still had that same goofy smile. His dirty blonde hair still fell into his eyes the same way it always had, and the only thing that had really altered in his dress was that the red bandana she had stolen wasn't around his neck. Though his face has matured, and he had grown taller, there was little different about the boy that Cowgirl had possibly loved.

After pausing for her inspection, Frost didn't wait for an instant. Turning, back around, she ran with all of her might. Though she wasn't sure where she was going, she ran and she heard footsteps behind her. Knowing who it was made her run all the faster, but something told her she had better find a way to outsmart them because she knew there was no way that she could outrun them.

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A/N: Did anyone else think that this chapter made Frost look like kind of a raging schizophrenic? Hmm… maybe that was just me, anyway, this kind of clears up what happened with Jack/Frost. I hope you all are happy. I'm not sure if I will ever clue Spot in on this whole situation, but I thought that you all should know since I've been talking about it like the whole time in my fiction. Ha, ha! Anyway, my eyes feel like they are bleeding, so I am going to write a few nice little notes to the people who love me, and then go to bed. Take care!

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Ireland O'Reily: You were swearing? Uh oh, hopefully not with small children around. By reading my stories, you would probably be surprised to know that I don't curse, but my characters sure do! Ha, ha! Anyway, I think that I am going to finish these because I am getting death threats from some of my reads. -_^ And if I don't finish them, I won't be able to write anything else because of that stupid contact I signed to myself. "Thou shall not write anything else until you have finished these stories!" Dagnabbit, why did I have to put that little clause in there? . : * Sigh * : . Well, this sort of cleared up the whole Frost/Jack issue, but left you kind of wondering what was going to happen next. I hope you liked it. Take care. ^_^

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Ice: I didn't really expect you to review my stories! I reviewed yours because I read it and I have this thing that if I read it, I review it. But I like your story and it is worth the time I spend reviewing. Don't feel obligated to read my stories if you don't want to, I really don't that to be the goal of this. I want people to read my words because they want to, not being they were obliged to! Ha, ha! Well, I'm glad that you have enjoyed this and I hope to see more of your story soon!

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Skittles: Resorting to bribes to get me to write now, are we? Well, whatever story you post, I will be interested in seeing it. I promise to come and read and review. ^_^ Just because I am nice person and you are ever so nice to be faithful with your reviews. I've never seen LotR, but I've heard it is really good. I really like the books, but I am waiting for the third movie to come out before I watch any of them. Then I can watch the other two on video and then go see the third one. That way, I won't have to wait. ^_^ Aren't I smart? Well anyway, enough about me. Thank you for the review and for all of the support! I love ya man! (You: you can't have my budlight) Awe man!

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Frenchy: Ah ha! I found one of those people that read my story and take me for granted and don't even bother to review! . : * tear * : . I'm glad that you are enjoying this story (and **Blind Spot**) even if you don't ever bother to review. An author's goal isn't to get as many reviews as possible, but to get the most out of the story. I'm sorry that I took so long getting this chapter up, but I hope it was worth the wait!

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Fallen Phoenix: Ha, ha, well thank you for your review and for killing my chapter. It deserved to die a slow painful death. ^_^ Well, well, well, you already have another story in the cooker? Aren't you the ambitious one! Well I want to read more of that other story you were sending me, I want to know what happens with Emerald and everything! Me, co-write a story? Well, come to think of it, the idea never occurred to me. I would love to do it, but I can't now. As I explained to Red Cinnamon, I signed a contact to myself saying that I wouldn't write anything else while I was writing these two stories. Afterwards, however… who knows? I really hope to see more of your other story though, thanks for the review and take care!

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Kaylee: Okay, well now you know the basic deal with Jack and Frost. Are you happy? Good! Thank you for your compliments on my writing. . : * Blushes * : . I am not worthy. Ha, ha, Spot the Hot that made me laugh so hard. You are a funny, funny girl. Don't worry about the reference to "You'll end up looking like Race over there." What Spot meant by that was he would beat whoever challenged him to a bloody pulp just like the nice little boy he is. ^_^ Race just happened to make him made and get in his way, but at least he was in the story, right? 

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Red Cinnamon: Oh, so you are an artist are you? Drawing little scenes from my stories. I am not sure if I should be flattered, or freaked out, but I will opt for the first. -_^ Well, now that I know that someone's life depends on me finishing my stories, I think will. Just for you, ha, ha! Feel special you silly person. Oh, I've got ideas for this story, it is just that I have ideas for about fifteen other stories that want to get out, but I signed a contract to myself saying that I would finish these first! Man, how disgusting is that? I made myself sign a contact to myself, I think I need some serious mental help…. And as for Spot getting better… you will just have to wait and see. [ insert evil laugh here ] -_^


	12. Bloodlines

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: This isn't my favorite chapter, mainly because I don't have a favorite chapter…. But it is fairly long, well more like medium, but it has a lot of content. Though you probably really don't care about my note here and you just want to get onto the story. So by all means, go right ahead and do that.

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG for mild cursing and mild violence.

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Chapter 11: Bloodlines

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//Childish with my,

Reasoning and pride,

Godless to the extent,

That I died…//

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The night air was crisp as the promise of fall settled over the city. The darkness enveloped the area as the moon ruled the sky, vanquishing the light with its unearthly glow. Shadows were long and the light from the lamps flicked eerily as a wind whipped down the streets. All of this was observed from a pair of smoky turquoise eyes. The eyes belonged to a boy who seemed to be as much of a shadow as the one in which he stood. 

The cherry red end of a cigarette bobbed and glowed as he took a deep inhalation from the nicotine stick. Even at a young age, he had learned the addictive principles of smoking. The few that were out didn't pay any attention to the young boy who was virtually hidden in the darkness. If they had, they would have seen him staring intently at the building across from them.

The building was massive with a large wall and huge gates surrounding it. It didn't look welcoming to say the least. Every once in awhile a guard would pass behind the gate, looking very proud of his position. A position that was fairly worthless in the grand scheme of things, but it was a job that many would have loved to have. Almost any job that didn't have to do with working in a factory was coveted.

Tossing the dead butt of his cigarette on the ground, he smashed it under the toe of his boot. The guard hadn't passed in about a half an hour, which probably meant the fat man had fallen asleep. Silently, he crossed the street and slinked to the gate. Standing so that so he could see inside the small guardhouse, he saw that the man was indeed sitting in his chair and was indeed asleep.

Smiling, Spot looked the gate and mentally calculated the route that he would take over it. After he had done this, he took a quick look up and down the street and checked for the note his in pocket. Finding everything in order, Spot began to climb.

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Her lungs burned, her legs burned, her head spun with the clutter of thoughts and jumbled escape routes, but she still hadn't managed to get away. Knowing the streets of Coney Island slightly better than the two boys that were chasing her, she managed to keep them behind her. The streets were slick with mud and ice and as she ran, dodging people, carts, and animals.

Looking behind her, she saw that the two were closing in on her fast and she knew that she had to find some way to get away. With a final burst of speed, she pushed herself to the absolute limit and ran with everything that she had. Darting around a corner, she then darted into an alley that she knew was there. Running down that alley, she turned into yet another narrow passageway. Then she came to a crack between two buildings and squeezed between them. It was barely wide enough for her to fit into it, but she did, and shimmied her way to the other side with painstaking effort. Sure that she had lost them, Frost then headed directly the lodging house, still running. 

When she made it inside, she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it. Nothing else could be heard but her heavy breathing and the pounding of her own heart in her ears. Gulping air into her starved lungs, she opened her eyes to see the whole inhabitance of the bunkroom staring at her. Forcing herself to stand upright, she met each and every gaze with steady determination before walking to the bathroom and promptly vomiting.

She hadn't known her stomach was sick, maybe it hadn't been, but something about her definitely hurt. Leaning her head against the heel of her palm, she fought back another wave of nausea as she knelt over a filthy toilet. Every one of her muscles screamed in pain and protest, her forehead was beaded with sweat, but that wasn't the sickness she felt. Something deeper than physical was crying out in anguish and she knew what it was.

She had seen him.

In the first instant when their eyes had met, she had felt it again. It wasn't the giddy, butterflies that she was used to. It was something deeper. Much deeper, and it scared her. Why hadn't she run from him in that first instant she had the chance? Why had she stayed and talked to him? She knew why. There was no denying the intense attraction that drew her to him like the opposite side of a magnet. 

Leaning her head back against the thin wooden divider of the stalls, she closed her eyes and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. There was no denying it anymore, not even to her conscious. Gripping the gold cross at her throat, she prayed to God that he would take these feelings away from her. They weren't something that she wanted, but they were something that could no longer ignore. Somewhere along the line, she had managed to fall in love with that terrible Spot Conlon.

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//My anger's violent,

But still I'm silent,

When tragedy,

Strikes at home…//

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"Shit," Jack breathed, slowing to a stop and looking around the streets. "Where'd she go?" he searched the area frantically with his eyes. 

"Jack, she ain't heah," Spot panted, scanning the street with equal vigor.

"It wos her, Spot," Jack's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Who?" Spot played the fool.

"Cowgoil," Jack bent over, putting his hands on his knees, the cold air burning his lungs.

"Dat wos Cowgoil?" Spot asked, so everything she had said was true. There had been the proof of the articles that she had in her collection, but no word of anyone else to back her claims. Now that this one claim had been backed up beyond a shadow of a doubt, what cause did he have to doubt her others?

"Yeah," Jack straightened, looking around one last time.

"Ah yous shuah?" Spot scratched his head, still trying to regain his breath from the vigorous run.

"Yeah," Jack scowled. "Whot wos she doin' heah on Coney?" he wondered aloud.

"It's close enough ta Manhattan," Spot reasoned. "Pro'ly came heah aftah she left dere. Oah maybe she came heah foah da races," Spot speculated, and Jack looked at him seriously. 

"Den why did she tell me dat she wos leavin' New Yawk?" Jack questioned, and for that, Spot had no answer because he had the exact same question.

"We'se should go back ta da races an' find da oders," Spot said instead, avoiding Jack's question smoothly.

"Yeah," Jack looked around for one final time, muttering to himself about how he knew it was her.

They hadn't run that far from Sheepshead as it was that Frost had led them in many circles trying to lose them, so the walk wasn't too bad. Quickly enough, they were reunited with the other leaders and started back towards their respective territories. The leadership 'meeting' had gone well in the fact that none of them had ended up in a fistfight by the end of their time together. Overall it had been a fairly good time, except for the ending. None of the other leaders asked where Brooklyn and Manhattan had run off to, probably because none of them really cared, but the question did stick in their mind.

As for Spot's mind, it was reeling. Frost was here on Coney? What had happened to leaving New York? Why hadn't he thought of her coming to Coney? Probably, because it had never seemed like a legitimate territory before. Also, the stories that people told about the Gut and the area around it were astounding, even to a hardened newsboy.

Rape and prostitution ran rampant. Some girls were even caught and forced into selling themselves for their masters. Though the law knew of such establishments, they didn't do anything about it. Probably, because they found their own entertainment there, along with hundreds of others. 

The more questions that formed in his mind, the angrier he became. One after one the pondering boy added to his list until he was seething inside. Though, what could he do? Brooklyn was powerful, but too far away to really have anything to do with Coney. Though there was a direct route by train to the island from his territory, what boy had enough money for a train ride? Why would he want to start trouble for that one girl anyway? 

She was just some dumb girl who couldn't keep herself out of trouble. She was just some girl that couldn't mind her own business. She was just some girl that didn't know where the lines of common sense and logic applied. She was just some girl that didn't know how to respect the laws of leadership established. She was just some girl that didn't know how to play by rules. Why should her whereabouts and her fate matter to him?

It mattered because he was a boy that needed the challenge that he found in her. Because he was a boy that couldn't stand the fact that she opposed him, but found that he didn't want to live without it. Because he was a boy that didn't follow those lines of common sense and logic. Because he was a boy that enjoyed the spark of wit he found in her. Because he was a boy that hadn't had anything to live for before she had come. Because he was a boy that had fallen in love against his will.

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//Why I see her dancing there,

why her smoldering eyes, 

Still scorch my soul,

I see her I feel her…//

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"Blackjack?" She heard the voice from the other side of the thin door that separated them. "Ah yous a'ight?"

"Yeah Dices," She called back, pushing her chestnut hair from her face. "I'se fine," she lied.

"Ah yous shuah?" the concern rang out clearly in his voice and Frost felt a twinge of guilt.

"Yeah," she fibbed again. "Is'll be out in a minute."

"A'ight," she heard the doubt in his tone, and then his footsteps walking away. Leaning her head back against the wall she looked up at the beams of the ceiling.

Cobwebs wove their way in silk like patterns over the rafters, their eerie motions moved by the change of the movements in the room. Their gauze-like texture floating and suspended in positions that looked as though some invisible hand held them there. The lamplight was the only illumination in the small stall, casting strange shadows and giving a ghostly appearance to those silken threads that hung above her head. 

Closing her eyes, she shut out what was the reality of the things around her and lost herself in a moment of times past. For as instant she could almost feel his lips over hers, like it had actually meant something to him. Though the kiss had most likely been nothing more than an escape of the brutal reality that had surrounded them. An unconscious shiver raced down her spine as she remembered things that were better to be left forgotten; but as we said before, forgetting is almost always an impossible thing to do.

Especially when it came to matters of love.

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//What if you did?

What if you lied?

What if I avenged?

What if eye for an eye…?//

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Spot wasn't alone when he was walking back to the Brooklyn lodging house later that night. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips as he trudged along, distracted. Trying to think of anything but that girl that he had seen at the races, he moved along. Of course this was much harder than it seemed as different images played across his mind. Finally, the annoyance that he felt with himself boiled into rage. In his anger, he let out a harsh yell and turned, slamming his fist into the brick wall of the building he was walking by.

The sickening cracking noise let him know that he would pay for his brash action. After the sound came the realization of pain and he clutched his broken hand to his chest. Vile words flew from between clenched teeth as he swore incoherently. The wounds from his encounter with the Pullvines reopened under the abuse along with forming new splits in the thin skin that covered his hands. That girl was going to pay for all that she had done to him, even if it was his own fault. A voice broke into his spilling of profanity.

"You should really learn to watch your temper," the mocking tone was familiar and Spot straightened quickly, turning towards the interference.

"Whot do yous want?" He asked harshly, unable to identify the figure coming closer to him.

"I have a few questions for you," the looming shadow replied.

"Well I ain't got no answahs so yous can leave," Spot held his ground, using his mastered art of intimidation. His hand hurt terribly.

"Where is she?" the man asked again, stepping out of the shadow in which his stood and Spot's mind registered instant recognition when he saw the eye patch.

"Who?" Spot pretended to be ignorant, also trying to ignore the pain in his hand.

"You know whom," the man growled, his one dark eye flashing. "Where is she?"

"She ain't heah, so how should I'se know?" Spot challenged and the man didn't look pleased.

"Don't toy with me boy," his tone was dangerous, but Spot didn't blink. Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Spot looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.

"Whot goil is it we'se talkin' 'bout?" he blew out smoke.

"The girl that was with you the first day I saw you," he gave his identification.

"Whot day wos dat?" Spot scowled slightly, his recovering face protesting slightly, but the pain was minor compared to the ache in his hand.

"You know what day it was, boy," the young man spat on the ground and Spot got a very contemplative look on his face.

"I seem ta remembah somet'ing 'bout dat," he nodded. "Did she have black heyah?" he asked casually.

"No," The young man seemed frustrated, but Spot was enjoying it.

"Den it hadta be da blonde," Spot nodded in understanding, but the man shook his head.

"Chestnut hair," the man corrected. "Not blonde."

"Chestnut ya say?" Spot took another drag off of his cigarette. "Whot colah is dat? Is it kinda like brown?" he wanted to end the conversation so he could tend to his hand, but he was having so much fun.

"No," The man scowled. "It's much closer to auburn," he said and Spot drew up his most convincing confused face.

"I t'ink dat yous got da wrong poyson mistah," Spot informed. "I ain't nevah known a goil wit' dat colah heyah," he turned and began to walk away but stopped when the man called after him.

"I'm not done with you," he sounded angry and Spot turned and looked at him, blowing smoke out of his mouth with a confidence and self-assurance about him that many envied.

"Well I'se done wit'choo," he answered simply, before moving to walk away again.

Heavy footsteps followed him, and Spot held his cane in his damaged hand, dropping the butt of his cigarette to the ground. Then traded the cane to his other hand, holding the other one close to his middle as he walked a little faster, knowing that the man was coming after him. A heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him and he turned to see a very irritated looking man.

"Is dere a problem?" Spot asked innocently.

"You're lying," the man accused.

"I'se told lotsa lies mistah," Spot chuckled, taking a few steps back, out of the man's grip. "I bet dat yous told a few youah self," Spot smirked.

"That isn't the point," The man growled.

"An' whot is da point?" Spot posed. "I don' know nuttin' an' if yous don' leave me alone I'se goin' ta havta soak yous," he threatened his eyes flashing with annoyed rage.

"Soak me?" The man's one eye widened slightly in misunderstanding.

"Yeah, like me fixin' yous so ya can't walk," Spot smirked.

"What makes you think you could do that?" The man chuckled, obviously thinking such a big threat from a small person was funny. True, this man was probably no older than twenty, and was at least seven inches taller than Spot, but this didn't seem to present a problem to the young Brooklyn leader. The only thing that had him slightly worried was the fact that his hand hurt like bloody hell.

"Damn right I could," Spot answered cockily.

"Just answer my question and I won't have to beat the tar out of you," the young man retorted.

"Ah yous sayin' dat yous could beat me?" Spot growled.

"With my eye closed," he spoke confidently, and Spot grimaced inside at the reference to his one eye.

"Well den," Spot gripped his cane in his good hand and looked at the taller man with every ounce of self-confidence and superiority he had. "Yous won't mind me doin' dis!" With those words, Spot swung his cane violently smashing it across the side of the young man's head. 

With a howl the younger man gripped the side of his head in pain and Spot turned and ran. Spot might have been able to take him at another time, but with one of his hands incapacitated, he knew the odds were probably against him. Being of a hot temper, but also being smart, Spot opted out of this fight. His ribs still hurt from the run in with the Pullvines, and the bruises hadn't even completely healed. Now was definitely not the time to be getting into another battle.

Though he couldn't help but wonder what connection this mystery man had with Frost.

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//I'm going to live my life,

Like every day is the last,

Without a simple goodbye,

It all goes by so fast…//

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Slipping down to the ground, Spot made a quick scan of the area to find the fat guard still asleep and the courtyard empty. Darting from shadow to shadow, Spot made his way towards the old rusted fire escape on the side of the main building. It was in ill repair and Spot thought bitterly of how it would do little good in a real even of emergency. There was no way that all of the boys could get out on this thing. It probably couldn't hold more than a few dozen before collapsing.

Moving slowly up the side, Spot grimaced at every noise he made, but he finally made it up the top. Taking the coil of rope from his arm he tied it securely to a stone outcropping on the roof and testing it with a few strong tugs before tying the other end around his waist. Carefully, Spot eased himself over the edge, holding the rope in one hand and letting himself fall little by little until he was in front of one of the bunkroom windows. Knocking on the pane of glass, the boys all looked in its direction and gapped when they saw someone hanging there.

It took a little while for them to respond, but when they did, the window was open within instants and they were all crowded around it. Questions were asked but Spot motioned for them to be quiet, the last thing he needed was the warden catching him too. These boys were about as sneaky as an elephant in tap shoes. No wonder they were in here. Once they had settled down, Spot asked his question.

"Yous got a new boy in heah," he informed. "Calls himself Cowboy," he looked around the group of wide-eyed boys. "Do any of yous knows him?" A sea of heads bobbed up and down in excitement and Spot reached into his pocket, pulling out the note. "Give dis ta him," he handed it to the oldest boy in the front. "An' make shuah dat he gets it, if he don'…" he let the threat hang in the air and all of the boys watched with fear in their eyes.

As quickly as he had come, the strange boy hanging in front of their window was gone again as he pulled himself back up from whence he came. This was harder to do than Spot thought it would be and he barely managed to draw himself up over the lip of the roof before collapsing with exhaustion. Arms burning, he lay on the cool surface of the roof and stared at the stars. He had done his job, now it was up to Cowboy.

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//So why they call it falling,

Why they call it falling,

Why they call it falling,

I don't know…//

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When she finally came out of the bathroom, Dices was the first to come over and talk to her. The concern was evident in his big blue eyes as he stared at her, worried. The fretful and protective gestures were meant with good in his heart, but they served only to annoy Frost further. Something had changed that afternoon. No, everything had changed that afternoon. Inside of her, something had snapped.

No longer was she Blackjack, or Cowgirl, or Duchess, or any of the dozens of other names that she had been called, she was just a girl. A girl that loved a boy whether she liked it or not. Unfortunately for him, Dices wasn't that boy. Brushing him aside, Frost went to the bunk that she had claimed for her own and picked up her knapsack of things. 

"I'se gotta go," she told Dices evenly. "I'se can't stay heah no moah," she shrugged the strap of the bag over her shoulder. 

"Whot?" Dices looked confused. "Do yous need money foah boahd?"

"No," Frost shook her head softly. "I'se just gotta go, I'se soahy," she gave him a sad smile and started to walk off. 

He called questions after her, all of them went unanswered and she honestly felt remorse for the poor boy. They had spent the afternoon at the races together and he would probably lose his job for it, and she was just leaving him. It was better this was though, no point in leading the poor boy on further. With her mind made up and her heart set, Frost stepped onto the darkening streets of Coney Island and held her head high. 

Then with a step that showed much more confidence than she felt, she took the first step on her journey. A journey that would take her to the one place she knew she needed to be. Frost was going back to Brooklyn.

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//Days are turning,

Into weeks,

Missing you,

So I can't sleep…//

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Spot's hand burned like fire. Though he had buried it in some melting snow when he had been sure that the man was no longer chasing him, it still hurt terribly. There was little good in trying to treat it himself, he had no idea what needed to be done. 

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Pro'ly broken, he thought bitterly as he lay in bed, and it probably was.

Though he had broken bones before, none of them had ever hurt like this, well at least not that he could remember. Even the multiple broken, cracked, and bruised ribs he had sustained hadn't hurt like this. Maybe if Frost were here, she would know what to do, but she wasn't. Where were people when you needed them? They were never there, people always would fail him, and Spot knew that now. No one had every been there for him and he didn't expect them to start now.

Why couldn't that girl just say what she meant? Why couldn't she just tell him her past, like everyone else had, let him in and give him the blackmail he needed to keep them in control. Each and every other person had been willing to comply to tell him at least something, but this girl. It had to be dragged out of her with brute force! She was stubborn, obstinate, ornery, annoying, egotistical, infuriating, disobedient, and over all disrespectful. There wasn't anything about her that was too incredibly appealing, her appearance was plain, and her figure ordinary, but something had captured him. 

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Shit, he thought to himself, turning on his side but quickly moving to be on his back again. His ribs still protested the idea of sleeping on his side. The darkness around him was complete and the room was cooling very slowly with the fire dying out. The dozens of warm bodies lying around the room offset the loss of heat slightly, but not too much. Muttering under his breath, Spot threw off of the covers and shimmed down onto the cold floor.

The iciness shot up his legs from his bare feet. Reaching for his clothes, he dressed as hurriedly as he could with his inflicted hand. It hurt like something out of a bad dream. There was a thought. Maybe this all was a bad dream and he would wake up. Something told him that this was only wishful thinking.

How many days had she been gone? It hadn't even been a full week since she had left and he was already in the same mess he had been in when she had first gotten there. Though, he hadn't ever gotten out of it when she had come. No, there wasn't anything special about this girl that made him happier. That was just absurd. Though truth is almost always stranger than fiction.

He wasn't sure what time it was, and he wasn't sure why he got out bed that night, but he did. The strangeness of the night, is one that time will keep. It was one of those times where you can't just stay in bed. No matter what you did, you just had the itch and had to move. What drew him to the roof late that night was another mystery to him. Somewhere along the line, he tried to rationalize that he needed some more snow for his hand. 

Climbing the ladder to the roof, he wasn't surprised to find it unlocked. Probably left open by Frost and the lodging house owner hadn't re-locked it. There wasn't much reason for this hatch, or for this alternate opening to the roof, but it was there. So Spot climbed the ladder, careful not to do any further damage to his broken hand. Pushing open the hatch, he poked his head over the edge and saw something he couldn't believe. 

There, as real as anything else, was Frost.

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//You make believe,

That nothing is wrong until your crying,

Crying to me,

You make believe…//

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It didn't take her nearly as long to get to Brooklyn from Coney than from Brooklyn to Coney. Perhaps it was because she didn't want to go to Coney, but she wanted to go to Brooklyn. Though she didn't want to go just to the place Brooklyn, the person Brooklyn. Strange thing this was, but Frost didn't stop to justify it. Instead she continued on into the night, avoiding anyone that came across her way and wary of every odd noise or foreign shadow.

Though the closer she got to the Brooklyn Lodging House, the more hesitant she became. Hesitant and almost afraid. What was she doing, going back to the lodging house? She couldn't do that, could she? That would mean she would have to tell everything to Spot, didn't it? No, she had kept him at bay for long enough before, why couldn't she do it again? Maybe it was because she wanted more than anything to tell him everything, and she meant _everything_. 

Stubborn by nature and obstinate to a fault, this wasn't an easy thing to admit. Even to herself. She could turn around right now, and none would be the wiser, she had told herself. She could go to the train station right now, she might not be able to get to Chicago, but Philadelphia wasn't that far away. Something kept her walking towards the Brooklyn lodging house though, something kept pulling her in that direction.

When she got there it would be more accurate to say that she arrived in the early morning, not the late night. The building was quiet, the streets were peaceful, and the whole place seemed to be bathed in serenity. In a few hours it would be bustling with life as loud and boisterous boys and girls would rise and be ready for a long days work. A long day it probably would be too.

Steeling herself against the pressing doubts, she opened the door. It wasn't locked, though these places rarely were. The door to the kitchen was closed, it probably was locked, but she didn't care. Silently, she ascended the stairs, avoiding every creaking board she had learned to know. When she reached the top, she didn't go into the bunkroom though; she turned and headed the opposite direction to a ladder at the end of the hall.

Silently, she scaled it. The latch at the top was still unlocked, and she laughed silently to herself. This place was practically begging to be ransacked. As quietly as possible she pushed her way onto the roof and shut the hatch after her. Sitting in the middle of the roof, she curled her legs up onto her chest as she began to think of all the ramifications her return would bring.

She would have to tell Spot what he wanted to know. She knew the rules just as well as the others. She would have to stop challenging him at every turn because that was the way it was done. Though she knew she wouldn't have to stop challenging him all together, she would definitely have to stop picking fights. She would have to accept the fact that he would never feel the same way about her that she did about him.

This was Spot Conlon after all, and he had been known for his exploits with the girls of the city. It wasn't an unknown fact to her that she was plain, almost ugly, but she made up from what she lacked in courage and brains. Those two things were not often found in woman and most of the time, they weren't looked for. Woman were supposed to be docile, humble, gentle creatures that had nothing more than cotton for brains and sweet smiles on their pretty faces. Plus, they never, _ever_ wore pants. Why did she have to be the one who had to be a man? Why did couldn't she be a really girly girl? Would Spot return her feelings if she changed?

Beside the inner-turmoil of the situation with Spot, there was always the fact that she had put herself in mortal danger returning here. What if he found her? She already knew that he would want to kill her, but would he? Had he already left? Probably not, actually, most definitely not. He had seen her, he knew she was in New York, more specifically in Brooklyn, but she wasn't one to run from her problems. Or was she? 

She had been running from something or someone almost as long as she could remember. Nothing was simple anymore, and nothing was easy. Nothing was how it was supposed to be, but that was life, wasn't it? Coming back here had been a mistake, she should have stayed back on Coney. If she had, she could have been Blackjack. The careless girl who had no vices and no qualms about romance, she could have been happy. Or at least pretended she was happy.

Everything was so confused. Why had she come back at all? It was worthless to come back now, the bridges had already been burned. There was no possible way that Spot would ever return her love, he probably wouldn't even let her sell here in Brooklyn anymore, but she had come back. Fates she was a fool, why had she come back at all?

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Because you're in love.

The answer came softly, gently, almost a whisper in the wind, but it hit her like a slap across the face. She had sacrificed her better judgement, her pride, and her common sense all for one thing. Love. The situation was completely hopeless and she looked up at the cold night sky, the stars sparkling above her like ice crystals. The cold air chilled her, and she shivered as she looked back out in front of her, staring into oblivion.

Tears of surrender welled up in her eyes and she couldn't figure out why. Silently they slid down her cheeks, freezing tiny trails on the smooth surface. Brushing at them angrily, she couldn't understand why she was crying. Crying was pointless, it wasn't going to help anything, and it only made things worse. Tears were weakness and there was no room for weakness on the streets.

There was a slight scuffling noise, then a squeak of creaking hinges, and Frost's eyes shot immediately to the hatch on the roof. Every muscle in her body tensed and she shot to her feet. Slowly, the trapdoor opened and someone's dark head popped up. Instantly, their eyes locked and it was like nothing else existed. In that one moment, Frost's vision was blacked out except for that one boy that held her heart in the palm of his hand.

The tears that she was crying were forgotten as the small boy pulled himself onto the roof with complete disbelief on his face. The look quickly molding into the carefully guarded smirk that she had come to know so well. With a condescending air, he examined her and Frost felt her cheeks burn. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so embarrassed. 

"Why ah yous cryin'?" Spot asked unexpectedly, and her eyes shot to hers.

"Whot?" She asked, surprised that he wasn't mocking her for her weakness.

"Yous cryin'," he stepped closer and brushed away one of her tears with his thumb and she shuddered involuntarily "Why?" he questioned, dropping his hand.

"Da cold ayah, it's stingin' me eyes," she covered quickly.

"Right," Spot's voice was laced with disbelief and she knew that the excuse had been lame. "Whot ah yous doin' heah, Frost?" He sighed heavily, and Frost thought he looked tired.

"I cames back," she pointed out the obvious. "Coney ain't da place foah me."

"Whot makes ya t'ink dat yous can comes back heah now?" Spot inquired.

"Is dere some reason I'se can't?" Frost blinked rapidly, trying to slow the flow of tears that just wouldn't stop.

"Dere might be," Spot stuck his good hand in his pocket, letting his other hand at his side.

"He came heah didn' he?" Frost asked bitterly dropping her eyes from his.

"Da man wit' da eye patch?" Spot spoke rhetorically. "Yeah, he's been heah."

"Shit," Frost murmured. "I nevah shoulda come back heah," she turned away from him and started towards the hatch but Spot reached out, forgetting about his bad hand, and gripped her arm. Automatically, a shock of numbing pain ran up his arm and though his body. The painful gasp he uttered as he let go of her arm brought Frost back to his side. "Whot's da mattah?" she asked, worried.

"Nuttin', me hand just hoyts a lil'," he held his wounded hand in his good one as he cradled it against his torso.

"Lemme see it," Frost reach out, but he jerked away.

"It's fine," he growled and Frost looked at him sternly. 

"I betcha don't have youah ribs wrapped no moah eithah," she put her hands on her hips, not even noticing that her tears had stopped. "Now lemme see it!"

"No!" he stepped away from her again as she advanced.

"Spot Conlon, yous bettah lemme see youah hand oah Is'll break da oder one!" she threatened heatedly, not even remembering her resolve to try and get along with the leader.

"Leave me alone woman! I'se said dat it's fine!" he spat in her direction and her eyes flashed dark fire.

"Gawd I hate yous!" She yelled and he laughed.

"Den why did yous come back?" he asked sarcastically.

"Not foah yous!" she shot back advancing rapidly and grabbing his hand. With a yelp of pain, Spot looked at her with murder in his eyes.

"Yous do like hoytin' me," he growled and she didn't bother looking up at him.

Even in the darkness, the discoloration of the skin on his hand was a fairly clear indicator that something was broken. Right below the pinkie and ring finger on his left hand, it was swollen and dark. Frowning, Frost turned over his hand and looked at his palm, even on the palm of his un-proportionately large hand, there was bruising. After a few moments of inspection, she looked up from her work.

"Can yous move dese two fingahs?" She asked, pointing to the ring and pinkie.

"Shuah I'se can," he wiggled them slightly with a grimace on his face.

"Can yous move dem wit'out dem hoytin'?" She rephrased the question and Spot smirked.

"No," he answered honestly and Frost looked at his hand again.

"Yous broked youah hand," she told him and he rolled his eyes. "How'd ya do it?" she looked up into his eyes and he felt a shock run down his spine, he chose to ignore it.

"I punched a wall," he mumbled and Frost looked at him with disbelief.

"Well dat explains da busted knuckles," she reasoned out loud and Spot glared at her. "Why in da hell did yous punch a wall?"

"I wos mad an' dere woynt no people 'round," he answered easily and Frost just shook her head. "Whot?" he asked.

"Yous punched a wall," she seemed to find this funny.

"Yeah, so whot?" he defended.

"Why weah yous mad?" she let go of his hand and bent over to pick up some of the snow that was left on the roof.

"Some o' da boys," he lied and winced as she pressed the cold matter on his inflicted appendage.

"Yous such an idiot," she muttered and he glared at her.

"Watch youah mout'," he reprimanded and she backed off. Silence reigned for a moment and then, "So, whose da guy wit' an' eye patch?"

Frost kept her eyes glued to his hand and she knew that there was no reason to fight it anymore. Even if there was no real reason to avoid it anymore, it didn't mean she couldn't.

"He's somebody I'se used ta know," she stalled.

"I saw him tanight," Spot said and her eyes shot up to his. "He's lookin' foah yous," he added and Frost looked genuinely scared before looking back down at his hand.

"Whot else did he say?" she asked woodenly.

"He called ya Lois," Spot informed and he could have sworn he saw her blush. "How'd he know youah name?" he asked and Frost didn't answer.

Waiting for her answer wasn't easy for Spot, but considering that she hadn't run away from him, he figured that she would give him one. Every other time she had automatically changed the subject, or run off, but now she was silent. The speculation he made proved correct when she took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes.

Finally, she spoke the truth, "He's my brother."

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A/N: Well, well, well, there is a plot twist for you all. Come on, who didn't expect that? I mean I made the guy have one eye, but the one he had was "dark as night." I think I even made references to how much it was like Frost's! Oh well, now that we know who the mysterious stranger is, how are we going to resolve this one? My guess is that none of you have any clue! That is good because I don't either! I am sure the muses will come up with something…. Anyway, I've got Frost and Spot back together, but they are still fighting. ARGH! The idiots! Why can't they just get along? [ Insert growl here ] Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Now for my lovely review board:

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Ali: So you liked the whole Jack/Frost story eh? Well, I wanted to make it longer, but I didn't want to bore the reader. So I wrote a really long one, then cut out about seven pages. Ha, ha, it really wasn't key to the story, it was just another background thing that cleared up a few things. Well, Jack didn't catch her… yet. O_O Ooh does that mean that he might get her soon? You don't know, do you? I guess that means that you will just have to keep reading. Aren't I just cruel? Yeah, that pretty much sums me up. ^_^ Anyway, thanks for the review and update Oblivious!

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Ice: You're hooked eh? [ Evil grin ] I have added yet another to the masses - er - not so massive masses. Oh well, at least I have a few readers. ^_^ So you are going to be patient and read this one before you read **Blind Spot**? You have more patients than me. I would probably read both of them because I am stupid like that. Oh well, thanks for the compliments and update your story soon! 

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Kaylee: Woo hoo! I got confetti! [ Does a dance ] You are pretty funny. ^_^ Woo hoo, I have a whole whopping [counts on her fingers] 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 fictions! Ha, ha, you should try writing something sometime. You might actually like it. O_O what a though, huh? Anyway, six fictions really isn't that many. I am so completely looking forward to finishing **Blind Spot** and **Frostbitten **because I have _so_ many ideas! Okay, well, I am going to stop before I make myself seem any more stupid. Take care!

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Ireland O'Reily: Well, I already said this in **Blind Spot**, but re-happy birthday. I'm glad that you liked the chapter. ^_^ It was kind of like a birthday present, eh? Anyway, even though Frost seemed like a schizophrenic, I wanted it to be clear that she would pretend to be people she wasn't. While she always had some of the same personality traits, she would alter some of them to become who others wanted her to be, or whatever suited her needs. I don't know if that came across, but that is what I was aiming for. Anyway, if Frost was around now, we would both be going to the shrink and maybe get a discount for all of the therapy we would need. -_^ Hey, maybe a psychiatrist would be able to get all of the muses to shut up for a little while! [ Thinks that this might have definite possibilities ] No! I have to keep my muses so I can keep writing. AGH! Anyway, I've gotta go write some on **Blind Spot**, so I am going to end this now. Take care. ^_^

Okay, so I only have [** 4 **] readers. [ Goes into the corner and cries ] We are missing a few from my review board! *cough* Silent breeze and Fallen Phoenix *cough* Where are you guys?


	13. After the Fall

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: For all of you reading **Blind Spot**, I'm sorry for updating this one again before it. The muses made me do it though. Plus I want to see what happens with Spot and Frost just as much as you do! So enough with my mindless ramblings and onward too greater things.

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG-13 for swearing and violence. If you've read the rest of the story, it isn't anything new.

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Chapter 12: After the Fall

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//After I fall,

Where do I stand?

And my heart is in,

Your hands…//

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For a moment, Spot didn't say anything. Somehow he had suspected some family connection, but never one so close. Her brother? A million questions raced through his mind. Why would she have to be hiding from her own brother? Why would her brother be in New York? Why would her brother be ruthlessly pursuing her? All of these and more swirled in a confusing pattern and Spot couldn't form a single sensible question.

Frost now had let go of his hand, the snow she had held against it melted, freezing her thin fingers to the bone. It was terrible cold out here on the roof all of the sudden. The ice she knew was in Spot's stare that she couldn't bear to meet. Stepping back from him, she turned to go back inside and he followed silently. There seemed to be an understanding that she wasn't going to tell him anymore, at least not tonight.

In the same as adding to the confusion, it clarified a lot of things. Like why the man was so interested in her, or why he would know her name. Though he seemed to have more hostility than affection for Frost, he definitely was interested in finding her. That was clear in the way he had pursued Spot and invaded the lodging house. With the way that Frost acted around the topic, one would have thought her more than skittish. 

Opening the hatch into the lodging house, Frost went in first followed still by Spot. It took Spot much longer to descend than Frost because of his hand, but he managed to close the hatch as well. Shivering against the cold air, Frost wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold in the warmth as she waited for Spot. When he had planted both feet firmly on the ground, she looked up at him.

"We'se should get youah hand in a splint," she had a hard time making out his face in the darkness.

"Is'll be fine," he shrugged off the suggestion.

"No yous won'," she disagreed quietly. "We'se goin' ta splint dat hand right now," she ordered and set off towards the bunkroom. "Wait heah," she whispered, creaking open the bunkroom door and slipping inside.

Obediently, Spot waited for her to return. As he waited, he pondered the whirlwind events that had occurred with Frost's return. He wasn't quite sure what all had happened, but she was back here now and that was all that mattered. Though the idea of her brother chasing her was rather unnerving, but he knew that he could protect her. As silently as she had left him, she returned with a lighted lamp in her hand. 

"Common," she motioned with her head as they moved slowly down the hall to the door of the unfinished girls-bunkroom. "Dey's gotta have somet'ing in heah foah a splint," she explained as she bend over and expertly picked the lock.

When they went in, even in the dim lamp light, they could see that someone had done at least some work in there. The tools weren't as scattered and the clutter not so overwhelming. Perhaps all they had done was cleaned some of their mess. This however wasn't relevant to their mission. Now was their time to find the materials for Spot's splint.

Frost, lamp in hand, rummaged through the clutter until she found an appropriate sized board for her work. Gently measuring it against Spot's hand, she frowned as she found it too large. Looking around, she spied a saw and set down the lamp at her feet. As quietly as possible sawed it to the correct size. It made a terrible noise and Spot grimaced as she tried painfully hard to make it so that she wouldn't bring the lodging house owner upon them.

Miraculously, no one came though the noise from the saw was something awful. Standing, Frost, took the lamp and the newly sawed board and measured it against Spot's hand. The board was thin, and lightweight so it wouldn't be awkwardly heavy, but it would keep his fingers from moving. Seemingly satisfied with the wood, Frost looked around for something to bind it with. Then she saw the sheet that she and Spot had sat upon those few late nights of story telling.

Setting down the lamp, she took it. Then taking the knife that she kept in her boot, she slashed down the fabric, making a loud ripping noise. Biting her lip, she winced at the noise and tried again, making even smaller strips, but failing to make it any quieter. The fates must have been with them because still no one intruded upon them as they worked. Satisfied with the strips of fabric she had created, Frost took Spot's hand and proceeded to create the brace.

Turning his hand over so his palm was face-up, she put the wood over his two inflicted fingers. The wood went down to the heel of his palm, insuring limited movement of the digits. Then, firmly, she began to wrap the cloth over them and Spot bit his tongue against the pain. It hurt like hell and worse as the pressure from the makeshift bandages made him wince inwardly. When she had wrapped the fingers she wrapped all the way down the hand, keep the thumb free, but binding the wood to his palm. 

"Dere," she smiled, satisfied with her work. "I hope dat woyks," she added and Spot looked at here menacingly.

"Ya mean dat dis might not woyk?" he sounded angry.

"I dunno," she shrugged. "I ain't done much woyk wit' bones," she admitted.

"So dis ain't goin' ta do nuttin' but make me look like a scabbah?" Spot growled.

"No," Frost shook her head hurriedly. "Dis will help youah hand ta heal cause it'll keep yous hand still," she explained and Spot looked down at the crude cast. "Da fastah yous heal, da fastah yous can use youah sling shot again," she reminded and he looked at her.

"T'anks," he grinned wryly, relishing the idea of using his slingshot.

"Yous welcome," she smiled back, happy for his approval, no matter how small.

So they stood opposite one another, closer than they had realize when she had been binding his hand. The smile faded from Spot's lips as he looked into her eyes and he tilted his head slightly to the side as though inspecting her. Frost felt as though he was looking down into her soul with those strange steely blue eyes of his and her heart rate accelerated. Being vulnerable wasn't something that she should be, and she couldn't let anything happen. For the first time in her life, she was completely and totally petrified with fear. 

Almost in slow motion, Spot began to lean in and Frost froze. He was only a few inches away when she stepped back, trying her best to control her shaking. Everything she was feeling was so foreign and it scared her to death. Bending over she picked up the lamp and avoided looking at Spot, who was staring at her, confused.

"We'se should get ta bed," she muttered, going to the door, leaving Spot behind in the darkness. "G'night Spot," she whispered from the door before exiting into the hall.

Once there, she moved as quickly as she could while staying silent. Hurriedly, she went into the bunkroom and found that her old bunk was still unoccupied. Setting down her things on the ground next to it, she blew out the lamp and stripped down to her undergarments before slipping under the freezing covers. It wasn't until she had closed her eyes that she began to mentally berate herself.

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He wos goin' ta kiss yous! She balled her hands into fists. _Why did yous pull away? He wos so close!_ She pressed her fists to her eyes, trying to block out the dim image of him drawing closer in the pale lamplight. _Why did yous say yous hated him?_ She asked herself. _Gawd can't yous do anyt'ing right?_ She struggled with these thoughts and she heard the door of the bunkroom open. Knowing whom it would be, she turned on her side, looking away from the door, and drew the scratchy wool blanket up to her chin.

His soft footsteps fell on the floor, and with each one Frost felt her body tense. Why was she so afraid? She knew that she loved him, but why was she so afraid? Closing her eyes tightly, she listened as the footsteps stopped a few bunks away from hers. A long soft sight was uttered in the darkness and she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Why had she pulled away from the one thing that she really wanted? More than duly frustrated with herself, she heard him climb up into his bed and lie down.

Sleep wouldn't come to either of them that night.

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//After I've loved you,

All I can,

Will I still stand tall?

After I fall…//

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The next morning came with painful awareness. There was no real reason for the incredible awkward feeling that accompanied the rousing and awakening of the lodging house. As quickly as she had left, that strange Frost girl was back and Spot seemed to be in an extremely bad mood. Maybe not a bad mood, but he was definitely on the edge. On the edge, but with good reason.

After Frost had left him, he had waited for awhile in the darkness before going after her. The whole thing had happened so quickly that he wasn't sure of exactly how it had come about. One moment he was simply standing there, the next he was leaning in to kiss her, and the next he was watching her leave. Was he so repulsive? 

By the way she had pulled away you would have thought that there was nothing else she would rather do than get away from him. This wasn't something that he was used to. Normally girls were more than happy to oblige him, but he had already found that his girl wasn't like the rest. He just had to fall for her didn't he? Of course, never one to follow convention or the rules, he had to fall for the one girl that he couldn't have. 

Across the room, Frost watched the boy dressing. Pulling his red suspenders over his slumped shoulders, she couldn't help but feel her heart break. He was beautiful, in every way he was beautiful. Faith, why did she have to be ugly? She knew his reputation and the way that she would just be another conquest on a wall of many, but she couldn't help but want to be the one that he wanted. Even if it was only for a little while, or not at all, she just wanted him to want her.

Although all of her promises to change herself to make herself more appealing to him had failed within the first instants of conversation, she wished they hadn't. Why had she told him that she hated him? Because she loved him that was why, and it scared her. It terrified her. She wasn't used to feeling anything of the sort, so her defensive anger had risen and blocked out whatever chance she might have had with him.

The thing that probably scared her most was if she completely gave herself up to it, to him, what would she be? Would she still be the smart-mouthed, independent girl that she truly was, or would she have to be changed? She had already fallen, but what about when she gave herself to him? Would she still be her own person, or would be forced to become another one of her characters?

It didn't matter though, because there was no way that she would ever be able to tell him.

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//He's got me,

Learning and yearning,

And tossing and turning,

For him all night…//

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Slowly, the hours trickled by, and selling was miserable. March was a terrible month in New York, especially early March. As the old proverb went, March comes in like a lion and out with a lamb. It was holding true this year. Even though the other days had shown hints that the arctic cold might recede, this day smashed all of the newsies hopes with another frigid blast.

The snow and ice that had melted froze again, making conditions slippery at least. By the end of the day, each and every newsie was more of an icicle than a person was. The sudden snap in temperatures hadn't done anything to improve the mood of any of the newsies, especially Spot and Frost. If it was possible, they both seemed to be in worse moods than before. Spot's smirk was replaced by a scowl and no one even approached the brooding girl. For being so good at hiding their emotions, they were doing a terrible job of it this night.

Frost had gone out on the streets and sold, even though she knew the danger she was in with her brother out on the streets with her. Spot had sold as well, and he had sold out quickly as always. Though today he had followed Frost and knew where she was selling, so he found her again and watched her sell. The cold made his broken hand ache, but nothing like the pain in his gut he felt as he observed her. How could someone be so close, but be so completely non-accessible? 

The ribs that she had insisted he keep wrapped protested against the tight binding that he had continued to apply, even though she had doubted him. Though it was uncomfortable, it was better than how it felt when they were free. The Pullvine brothers hadn't given him any problems as of late, which was odd, but he would take his blessings where he could get them. Even if they weren't that great. 

So he stood in the shadows, following her as she went, stealing a cigarette of two along the way. It was easy enough to blend into a crowd if you knew how, even with a gold-tipped cane at your side. The interest in a small dark-haired boy was low, so he watched. Apparently the interest in a small chestnut-haired girl was low as well, because she was having a hard time selling her stack of papers. 

As he watched, he couldn't help but wonder why she had turned away from him the night before. He was inches away, but he hadn't even gotten close. This thought disturbed him because he was convinced that if he could just kiss her once more, he would have had enough of that enraging girl. All he was feeling for her was the thrill of the chase, right? Though he had chased girls before and he had never wanted one like this. He didn't want to want anyone like this!

Taking a cigarette out of his pocket, he lit it. Finding this simple task difficult with his damaged hand and he swore under his breath. When he had finally lit up the fag, he took a long slow drag. Filling his lungs with the poisonous smoke before exhaling deeply. Opening his eyes, he scanned the crowd, and found Frost quickly. A pang of pain erupted in his chest as he looked at her.

It hurts to want someone so much, but not to want them at all.

****

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__

//Staring out the window,

At the sinking sun

Another painful day,

Is done…//

****

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So passed the day. The pain they felt more keenly than the cold that penetrated their moth-eaten clothes. Too bad both were too stubborn to admit that they felt anything. Though Spot quickly engaged himself in a game of poker, Frost stayed distant from the group. Few even thought of approached girl as she frowned menacingly at anyone who dared to make eye contact. The only time her dark eyes softened were when they fell upon a certain dark-haired newsboy.

It was apparent to anyone who watched her that she had some sort of feelings for this boy beyond the hatred that she professed. No one brought it up when the two were around, but the attraction between them was painfully obvious to everyone. Everyone but them, that is. Some talked, some speculated, others gossiped, but all came to the same conclusion. There was definitely some extreme energy flowing between the duo.

The sun was setting when Frost stood up off of her bunk and grabbed her coat. It was too much to be in the same room with him right now. The scene of the last night's encounter still ran through her mind. She donned all of her outerwear and exited the bunkroom. Spot didn't want to care, but he did. The poker game had ended with him losing, but it had happened before. Automatically, he went to go get his coat and hat, reasoning that he needed to talk to her about her brother. Before he could follow her though, Outsider came over to talk to him.

"Spot," he said as his leader was gathering his things.

"Yeah?" He masked his annoyance with his normal know-it-all smirk.

"Ah yous goin' aftah Frost?" he asked quietly, keeping their conversation as private as he could with the dozens of listening ears.

"Whot if I am?" Spot got defensive. 

"I knows yous got a fancy foah her, but I still -"

"I'se got a whot?" Spot blurted out a little too loudly and the whole room looked in their direction. Glaring out at them, Spot lowered his voice and asked again, "I'se got a whot?"

"Dere ain't no use pretendin' Spot, da whole borough knows," Outsider to patch up what he said.

"Knows whot?" Spot growled and his co-leader backed off a little.

"Dat you an' Frost…" he drifted off, letting his gray eyes tell the story and Spot clenched his teeth.

"Dere ain't nuttin' dere," Spot informed. "She's got some infoahmation dat I'se wont an' dats all," he clarified and Outsider looked at him doubtfully. "Ya don't believe me?" Spot took a menacing step forward and his tall friend stepped away.

"I nevah said dat," Outsider defended.

"Ya don' havta say it," Spot growled and he could tell that his friend had something else to say. "Wos dere anyt'ing else?" he waited and Outsider swallowed heavily.

"I don' trust dat goil," Outsider reinstated his distrust with Frost.

"Why not?" Spot inquired, wondering if his friend had come up with any justified reason.

"She's da Spectah o' Queens, I jus' know it!" He insisted quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear. "An' wheah wos she da last few days?" he asked. "She coulda been in Queens, foah all yous know, she's a spy!" It was well known that Queens and Brooklyn had never really gotten along, but there wasn't any reason for spying, was there?

"Ya got any proof, Outsidah?" Spot asked heavily, dreading what would happen if there were.

"Well…" Outsider looked down at his feet before mumbling the answer.

"Whot?" Spot scowled, not making out his answer.

"No," Outsider spoke a little more clearly.

"Den dere ain't nuttin' I'se can do," Spot said. "Dere ain't no rule dat says I'se can kick her out jus' cause yous don' like her," Spot put his good hand in his pocket, letting his splinted one hang at his side. "But now I'se got business ta do," he informed before walking out the door after the girl that had left only a few minutes earlier. 

As he went, Outsider watched with a rather strange look in his eye. What could his leader possibly see in that girl? That question would go unanswered as he watched his friend go out the door and down the stairs. Whatever he saw in her, it must be something else because he had never seen Spot act this way over any girl.

After Frost had exited the building, she looked up and down the streets, unsure of where she was going or what she was doing. It was dangerous for her to be out on the streets now that her brother was out there after her. Though there was always danger on the streets no matter where she was. One chance meeting with the wrong person, or the wrong group and she would be nothing more than a faded memory.

The reason she had left was more for a distraction from her feelings than for any other purpose. The feelings that she had were powerful and she knew that if she spent too much time around him, she might betray herself. Nothing could be less appropriate than her going after another one of the territory leaders. Hadn't she already learned her lesson? Apparently not.

As she walked slowly down the streets, the growing darkness closed around her. Sometimes she would see young couples, or children walking home together from the factories. It was nothing more than a cruelly painful reminder of how very alone she was. Alone, she had been that way for years, so why did it bother her now? Was it because now she actually had a desire to be with someone?

Frost shivered as she walked aimlessly down the slippery streets. It was cold, and she wished for something or someone to keep her warm. If she closed her eyes she could almost remember the way it felt to have Spot holding her in his arms. Now wasn't the time to remember this though, she didn't want to care about him. Love meant pain and she didn't want anymore of that. Though now she really didn't have a choice did she? 

Her slow pace wasn't helping to keep the cold from laying claim to her thin body as she couldn't remember why she had even set out on this venture. There was nowhere for her to go, no one for her to find. The only thing she had done by stepping out on the streets was put herself in danger. Why was she being so stupid and wishy-washy? Spot was just another boy that would do nothing more than use and abuse her if she ever succumbed to his advances.

Hot tears of frustration stung the backs of her eyes and she blinked them back furiously. There was no reason to be crying, and there was no way she was going to cry over that boy. He was nothing more than the thorn in her side, the pain in her neck, he was nothing more than the boy she desired. There was no reason for her to feel anything for this boy either. They had done nothing more than squabble and quibble over the smallest things since the first time they had met.

The setting sun was now being swallowed by the night sky as the first of the stars began to light up the sky and the moon forced the sun into submission. How long had she been walking? The sudden realization that she had been plodding along slowly for probably close to ten minutes brought her to the conclusion that she had better go back. The fall of night meant that the scum of the earth would be crawling out from under their rocks soon. They were nothing more than trouble for girls like Frost.

The idea of getting in some sort of trouble seemed a welcome distraction to her though, as her thought pattern was slightly askew. So she kept walking, and walking, and walking, until she was finally at the Brooklyn Bridge. The darkness kept her view from being of anything more than the endless black expanse, but that was okay. 

A cigarette would have been an appropriate accessory at this point, if she had one, but she hadn't managed to steal one throughout the day. So her nicotine fix would have to go unfulfilled like so many other needs she had. Sometimes, if she smoked, she could forget how hungry she was, or sad she was, and just lose herself in the bitter flavor. 

No such relief would cone to her tonight, so she simply stood on the bridge. Looking out in the empty expanse, she didn't want to remember anything right now. Focusing on the darkness around her, she worked on forgetting. Though such intense emotions are rarely forgotten.

****

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__

//Long ago,

Far away,

Glowing dim,

As am ember…//

****

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__

So the day came that the mayor would be arriving at The Refuge and Spot waited outside of the building, hiding in the alley like he had the night of his break-in. A few older boys were with him, and if the plan went well, they wouldn't be needed. They were only for the worst case scenario, which hopefully wouldn't happen. They had been waiting for quite some time now since the mayor had arrived. Then the sound of a hundred little feet sounded as they marched out of the building like a ragged army.

Warden Snyder was probably having the whole group out there waving goodbye to the mayor and thanking him for coming. A pleasant little act to keep the inspectors out for a good long while. Any boy that didn't smile and wave would probably be beaten if Snyder saw him. What a nice man….

Then the gates opened and the mayor's carriage could be seen. Spot straightened, as did the dozen boys he had brought with him. A ragged head of Cowboy was seen popping up from the rear end of the carriage just as the buggy pulled through the iron gates. Stepping out of the shadows and signaling the boys with his cane, he watched as his minions went forth with their deed.

The dozen boys all crowded around Cowboy as he jumped off the end of the carriage and as Snyder began barking out commands to get that boy. Just as they had been told, once Jack had been confused into the mix of boys, all similar height and build as the newsie, they splint into four groups. Each of the groups ran off in a different direction and the guards had no idea which one to chase. 

Spot watched all of this happen with a delighted smirk on his face. The plan had been pulled off without a hitch and no one had even seen it coming. With a tune on his lips and a spring in his step, Spot headed for the upper-east side Manhattan Lodging house, knowing that the Cowboy would be there waiting.

****

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__

//You're a move,

I want to make,

You're a chance,

I want to take…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

Spot stepped out onto the streets after talking with Outsider and Frost was no where in sight. Swearing under his breath, he knew that it would be worthless to look for her now, she could be anywhere, but reason had never been Spot's way. Taking a deep breath, he set out into the darkening world, looking for the girl to whom he wanted to talk.

On ward he pressed, looking down the alleyways as he walked down the streets. Already his legs were tired from the day's work, but he pressed onward. The cold seeped in through is coat and into his sore ribs and broken hand. Still, he kept walking, not really knowing where to go. She had left her things, so she hadn't run off, had she? No, she valued those things, but maybe it was all a bluff to keep him from guessing. No, she wouldn't have done that, would she? He coughed as the cold air seemed to freeze his lungs, and the sudden motion made his ribs ache even more.

The abuses he had suffered from the Pullvines were fading, but there were still several evidences to the attack. The swelling had gone down even though the bruises still remained, faded, but remained. At times his lips still hurt and the cuts on his face were scabbed over nicely, but they were disfiguring. If they scared he would take those Pullvines and beat them bloody. In all reality, he looked rather pathetic and no one would take him for a good fighter from his appearance.

His battered face, his braced hand, the knuckles on his good hand still raw from the fight. One would have assumed he had gotten into a brawl with some older thug, and in a way he had. Though he had been unfairly outnumbered, no one knew that, and no one really cared. All they saw was a pathetic little ruffian who was beaten at his own game. Some pitied him, but few took the time.

So onward his walked, wondering what had inspired Frost's late night excursion. The cold air stung his eyes and bit his nose as he coughed again. The urge for a cigarette was fought down, remembering the trouble he had the last time he tried to light one. If the cold wasn't enough, patches of ice and hardened snow were reminders that winter still had his steely grip over the city. Raising his good hand to his mouth, Spot breathed some of his hot breath into its palm as he walked. Already his fingers felt more like icicles than a human hand.

As his feet had on so many other late night walks, they had somehow ended up at the Brooklyn Bridge. Smiling bitterly, he thought of all of the times he had stood on this very bridge and contemplated taking his own life. He remembered the warm and wild feel of Frost's mouth under his own. He remembered how he had wanted more, but she had pulled away. Standing at the edge of the bridge, he knew that any further searching would be futile and he started onto its long path. 

Trudging along, he looked up from his feet for a moment and blinked in surprise at the sight in front of him. There stood Frost, the same place she had been when he had kissed her that night. Her expression was blank, her back rigid, it was clear she hadn't detected him yet. Stepping into the shadows, he watched her, unsure of what to do. Simply watching her stand there was like standing in the presence of an angel and he wondered if she knew how attractive she was.

An off-key chorus of male voices echoed in the silence and Spot pressed himself further into the darkness. A trio of men, all with their arms around each other's shoulders, were stumbling down the bridge from the Manhattan side attempting to remember the words to some bar melody. They were laughing hysterically at one another's antics and he saw Frost's head whirl around and survey them. To Spot's surprise, she didn't run or make any motions to hide, and she just turned back out to look over the edge. Was she insane?

The men, however drunk they were, were large and could easily overpower such a petite girl. This truth held in his mind as he silently urged her to run, hide, or do anything to defend herself against these men. Knowing that she couldn't hear him, but hoping that she might somehow hear was he was trying to say to him. She didn't move and the men spotted her.

"Hey!" One of them yelled rather loudly. "Looky heah!" His rough voice was slurred terribly. "We'se - We'se gots ouah - ouah selves - a - a goil," his loud speech was interrupted by intoxicated hiccups.

"A goil?" one of them looked around, squinting his eyes as they staggered. "Wheah?"

"Ovah - dere," the first replied, making a miserable attempt to point in the direction of where Frost stood.

"Get outta dere Frost," Spot hissed, watching her not even flinch as the three surrounded her, laughing in an amused fashion at whatever retort she had offered their drunken slurs. Soon, she was reverting to slapping away the hands that strayed, but still made no motions to run. The disgusting display sickened Spot, even though he had seen it before. 

Gritting his teeth, he watched as the men repeated several offenses that didn't go ignored by Frost, but she still made no moves for escape. What was she doing? Did she was to be raped? The straw that broke the camel's back came when one of the men grabbed her around the waist and dragged him to her, pressing his filthy mouth to hers. That did it, Spot stepped out of the shadows brandishing his slingshot. Broken hand or not, he was still a deadly aim as he drew back the band and fired. Marble after painful marble, he shot them at the men, hitting his targets easily and the drunks couldn't understand what was happening. Putting his slingshot back into his waistband he yanked his cane from his belt loop.

The man that had held Frost released her from his strong grip, and Spot charged towards them, waving his cane. Smashing the closest one to him over the head he gave Frost a look that said '_run'_! Finally, the girl did what she should have done long ago and turned and ran towards Brooklyn. Spot likewise took off in the same direction. He might have been bold, brash, and courageous, but he was far from stupid. The group of drunken men was too intoxicated to run after them, but not too drunk to throw a string of vile curses after the affliction of their pain.

As soon as Spot caught up to the Frost he grabbed her arm with his good hand and yanked her into the nearest alleyway. Both of them were panting, gasping for breath, but once Spot had gotten his second wind, he spoke.

"Whot da hell weah yous doin' out dere?" he asked, still breathing heavily.

"Wheah da hell did yous come from?" she returned his question with her own.

"Dat ain't impoahtant," he shook his head and looked at her coldly. "Whot wheah yous doin' out deah on da bridge?"

"I wos t'inkin' a'ight?" she returned his cold gaze with her own. "Since when did yous cahah? It ain't like I'se got anyt'ing ta give ya. Is dere a law against goil goin' out by dem selves ta t'ink?" she fired questions at him.

"Dere ain't no law, but yous shoulda run when doe's men came," Spot reprimanded, sounding very much the part of the angry older brother. "Whot ah yous tryin' ta do? Get youah self raped?"

"I'se can handle meself," She growled. "An' I'se don' need poysons like yous ta help me!"

"Dey had yous back dere!" Spot yelled back. "Yous coulda been killed!"

"An' why would dat mattah ta yous?" She hollered.

"I'se da leadah an' yous undah me so I'se gotta look out foah yous," he answered, trying to get his temper under control.

"Nobody has gotta look out foah me!" Frost spat on the ground. "I'se take cahah o' meself," she informed. "I don' needs nobody!"

"I'se da leadah," he growled. "An' yous goin' ta listen ta me," he said. "You ain't goin' out at night unless yous got somebody wit'choo," he lay down the law and she looked at him sharply.

"I ain't youah slave, yous can't ohdah me 'round like dat!" She stepped closer and yelled in his face.

"I'se da leadah an' I'se can do whot I'se wont," he hissed and she narrowed her eyes.

"You ain't no great leadah," she insulted. "Yous jus' got evahybody inta t'inkin' dat yous so great," she continued telling him what she thought. "If yous didn' have dem all so scahahd, do yous really t'ink dat any of dem would follow yous?" she gave a slight, mirthless smile. "You ain't nuttin' moah dan a hoity-toity, good-foah-nuttin', scabbah wit' -" her insult was cut off as Spot moved suddenly, grabbing her by the shoulders and slammed her against the brick wall behind her.

The rapidity of this movement caught her completely off guard and she didn't even notice as Spot reached down and pulled the knife out of his boot and stood back up, pinning her back against the wall. A dangerous glint reflected in his darkened eyes as they stared into hers, and she knew that she was in trouble. His broken hand didn't pin her down, but his elbow did. The good hand held a knife that glittered in the dim lamplight as it filtered into the alleyway. Holding the knife dangerously close to her throat, he started into her eyes.

"All I'se gotta do is slit youah t'roat an' nobody would know," he growled, his voice tight. "No body would cahah," a disgusting smile twisted his mouth.

There was silence in the alley as they stood there. As Spot stared into her wide eyes, he could have sworn that he saw a thin sheen of tears covering them. The heart inside of him twisted and he couldn't help but feel terrible. He had never cut someone's throat, he had never even came this close, and the idea that he was now doing it to this girl made his heart cringe. 

"I hate yous," she spoke very softly, and Spot heard the quiver in her voice.

"I hate yous too," he repeated, staring into her eyes.

For a long moment, neither one of them moved, never one of the breathed, then Spot's eyes dropped to her mouth, the darted back up to her eyes. Instinctively warned, Frost's eyes widened, but it was too late. The next instant, Spot's head had ducked the short distance to her mouth and kissed her savagely. 

The clatter of the knife on the ground fell upon deaf ears as a bittersweet melody echoed in their minds. At first, Frost resisted, stiffening under his unfamiliar kisses. Then for one moment, one brief, heady moment, she melted against him. Returning his embrace rather than resisting, but it wasn't long before she put her hands on his shoulder and shoved him away.

Though the kiss hadn't been that long, it had wreaked it's damage. Her breathing was erratic as was her pulse, her lips were tingling from the kiss that he had given her. The fire that was coursing through her veins hadn't cooled any on separation and she looked at Spot with wide eyes. He had kissed her, but had he meant it? She didn't want to know, she ran. Without looking back, she ran.

In the moments that followed, Spot watched her go with a slight smile on his lips. Bending over, he picked up the knife that had fallen on the ground and returned it to its place in his boot. Even though she had run, he knew where she had gone. She had gone back to the lodging house. There was no where else she could have gone. Even though she had pushed him away, he had kissed her. That wasn't what made him the happiest though, all that matter right now was, she had kissed him back.

****

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A/N: Wow, okay, that was lame. Anyway, that is what the muses wanted to have happen and that is what happened. Maybe it the sappy chapter for Valentines Day. Oh well, I don't care. I have somewhere around 0 energy right now. I am sick and well, that is about enough to make me tired. I've got the flu and I have been taking frequent barf breaks while writing this chapter. Graphic and disgusting I know, but that is the reason that I just don't have it in me to write person thanks to all of my reviewers this time. I want to thank you all, Ireland O'Reily, Rae Kelly, Kaylee, skittles, Ali, and the rest of you for reviewing. I just wanted to get this posted and I am sorry about the delay on **Blind Spot**. Two words for you: Writers Block.


	14. The Key

****

Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: I love FF.net. I just thought I would share that. Sometimes it can be a pain or have its problems, but overall it is an awesome system and operation. With that out of the way, I am going to simply say that right now I have been solely inspired to write this story and not **Blind Spot**. I feel that it is more appropriate the write this story any way, considering it comes before **Blind Spot**. No worries for the faithful readers of that story, I will still be updating it, I just think that this one will be updated more frequently until it is finished, then I can focus my sole attention on **Blind Spot**.

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Warning: This chapter is PG for mild language.

****

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Chapter 13: The Key

****

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//Things my heart,

Used to know,

Things it yearns,

To remember…//

****

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__

So the mighty Spot Conlon arrived at the Manhattan lodging house to find Cowboy Sullivan there, looking heroic as ever. The group of boys that had escorted him was there, but the others had returned to their respective boroughs as instructed. All of the boys and girls were crowded around their freed leader as he told his variation of the tale. Standing in the stairwell, Spot listened with an amused smile on his lips. When he had heard enough, he climbed the last few stairs and tapped his cane on the floor. Automatically, there was a hush.

"Well Cowboy," Spot walked over to his fellow leader with his confidant swagger. "Ah da bulls goin' ta know ta look foah yous heah?" he asked.

"No," Cowboy shook his head. "Dey don' know dat I'se a newsie," he answered and Spot looked at him suspiciously.

"Yous got ta get a new name," Spot instructed, and Cowboy looked at him blankly. "Ya know, somet'ing ta hide undah," he explained and looked around the room for inspiration.

A copy of the day's paper lay on the floor and Spot picked it up, thumbing through the pages. Scanning all of the articles, he tried to find a name that suited his friend. Again and again, he would shake his head or mutter something under his breath, but he didn't find what he was looking for until the last page.

"Jack," Spot announced and Cowboy blinked. "Youah name is Jack," he said plainly and Cowboy seemed to think about it for a moment.

"A'ight," he nodded. "Jack," he tested the name. "I like it."

"Good, cause dats youah name," Spot said tersely, tossing the paper to the ground. "Now whot about youah last name?" he asked, opening the floor for suggestions.

"How 'bout Edwahds?" One girl piped up.

"Oah Smith," Said another.

"Jack Smith?" Race raised an eyebrow at the bland sounding name.

"Brown, Jack Brown," Kid Blink offered and Jack made a face.

"Jack Pulitzer!" Specs added with a laugh and a chuckle ran through the group.

"Why don' ya add DeLancey why yous at it," Jack grumbled, not particularly enjoying any of the propositions.

"Kelly," Spot said plainly. "Jack Kelly."

For awhile no one said anything, if anyone didn't like the name, they didn't say so. It was probably in their better interest that they stayed quiet because it was Spot's suggestion. For a moment, Jack looked up at Spot and then seemed to be thinking over the offer of the new name. It was better than any of the other suggestions that he had gotten.

"Jack Kelly," he tested the name hesitantly. "Jack Kelly," he said it again, a little bolder and a smile tugged at his lips. "I likes it!" he proclaimed and Spot smirked.

"Den Jack Kelly it is," Spot slapped his friend on the back and looked around the room. "Dis heah is Jack Kelly an' anyone dat says differ'nt is goin' ta havta ansah ta me," he threatened and no one said anything. Without another word, Spot left, heading back to Brooklyn. That crisis had been handled with ease, he only hoped that everything was under control back in Brooklyn.

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//Living might mean taking chances,

But their worth taking,

Loving might be a mistake,

But it's worth making…//

****

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Spot walked back to the lodging house at his own pace, confident that Frost would still be there. Again and again the scene played over in his mind, she had kissed him back. Though she had kissed him back before, he hoped that things had changed since that random embrace on the bridge. The knife that he had used against her nestled safely in his boot. It wasn't his habit to carry it regularly, his cane and slingshot normally were enough, but since the run in with the Pullvines and Frost's brother, he didn't want to take any chances. His supply of marbles was drastically depleted as he had used more than he anticipated in plaguing the drunks on the bridge. The pain in his body was sharp and the weariness could be seen in his eyes, but there was a spring in his step as he headed back home that night.

The group of newsie instantly noted the change of mood that their commander in chief had registered upon re-arrival. No one brought it up, but there was an evident alteration. This mood was curious to say the least. Though he never openly expressed himself, his posture spoke loudly. No longer were his shoulders slumped or his forehead pulled into a slight pucker, no he stood tall and his face was bright. Whatever had happened since he had left had certainly changed his outlook on life.

Though Spot had returned, Frost hadn't. This was the only thing that damped their leaders cheery outlook. The fact was not that she hadn't returned, but it was that Spot hadn't seen her. Now wasn't the time to go poking around looking for her. Now was the time to make believe that he had extracted whatever bit of information he had desired from the renegade girl. Though in the back of his mind he couldn't help but wonder where she was.

__

Whot if she didn't come back? The sudden thought came to him, but he tried to push it aside. _She came back_, he reasoned. _Wheah else could she go?_ He smiled inwardly at the thought, she had to be here. _But if she's heah, den wheah is she?_ That was the last though he was able to construct before his co-leader came over and interrupted them.

"Did ya talk ta her?" he asked and Spot looked at him stupidly for a moment before processing what he had said.

"Whot? Oh, yeah," Spot blinked and Outsider eyed him curiously.

"Yous okay?" He asked hesitantly and Spot glared at him.

"O' coyse I'se okay," he looked up at his tall friend. "Jus' t'inkin' 'bout dat goil down at Millah's dinah," he smiled suggestively and Outsider's deep-set eyes twinkled.

"Da new blonde?" he asked and Spot whistled through his teeth, Outsider laughed. "She's got da coyves of an angel," Outsider replied and Spot merely nodded.

It was true that Spot had noticed the new waitress, but he hadn't made any moves towards romancing her. His appetite for woman had waned drastically in the past weeks. If this girl had two heads he probably wouldn't have noticed. Luckily this girl was obviously quite a looker.

"So whot did yous need ta talk ta dat goil about?" Outsider changed the topic back to the precursor, obviously much relieved that his leader at least seemed to have his interest elsewhere.

"We had some t'ings dat she need ta undahstand if she wos goin' ta stay heah," Spot answered smoothly and Outsider nodded. The girl obviously needed someone to draw the line for her and who better to do so than Spot?

"She goin' ta be causin' any pro'lems?" Outsider raised his eyebrows.

"No," Spot answered confidently. "She ain't goin' ta be any moah trouble."

"Good," Outsider sounded pleased. "We'se got a pokah game stahtin' ovah dere, ya wanna join?" He offered and Spot shook his head.

"I'se t'ink Is'll sit dis one out," he informed and Outsider walked away. 

So he sat out the poker game, he went over to his bunk and climbed up onto his bed. Though he was exhausted, he couldn't have gone to sleep if he tried. What he wanted to do was find Frost. Where was that girl? Surely she hadn't stayed out on a night like this. Didn't she ever learn? Maybe she was here, but somewhere else in the building. The roof was a possibility, as was the unfinished bunkroom. 

He wanted to get up and go and check, but how could he do so without being conspicuous? This was a challenge, as it was that he had already left once that night, but he was the leader, no one would question him. Being the leader though meant that he was always closely under watch. Irritated, Spot frowned, his good mood quickly evaporating. What did it matter if everyone was watching him? There wasn't even any guarantee that she was going to be there. Beyond the point of caring, Spot jumped down from his bunk, his aching feet protesting under the abuse.

Casually, he went out the bunkroom door, closing it after himself, and walking down the hall. He could easily be going to the bathroom, which was separate from the bunkroom, and he convinced himself that everyone thought he was going there. There was no reason why he should even be worried about what the others thought. Right now, he was looking for the only thing he really cared about. The door to the unfinished bedroom was still unlocked, apparently the workers hadn't been there today. Sadly the room was empty, so he quickly shut the door and walked to the end of the hall where the ladder waited. Unsteadily, he climbed.

Going up a ladder with only one functioning hand was more difficult than he remembered from the night before, but he managed. When he opened the hatch the first thing he felt was the intense cold and he wished that he had brought his coat. The icy air burned his lungs and made his broken bones ache, but he pulled himself up onto the roof and saw what he had been looking for. Her back was to him, and she had her arms wrapped around herself, her long hair had been loosed from its restrictive braid and flowed freely in the frigid air.

"Whot do yous wont, Spot?" she asked harshly without even turning around.

"I needs ta talk ta yous," he walked towards her and he saw her shoulders stiffen.

"Fine den," she didn't look at him as he approached. "Talk."

Spot didn't start until he had walked around in front of her. Though she was looking forward, she stared into oblivion. It was as though she was looking right through him and he shifted uncomfortably. Those dark eyes looked so hallow as they didn't waver from their course. Struggling for the right approach, Spot chose the path of brutal honesty for this situation.

"I kissed yous," he stated blunted and he thought he saw her jaw clench. "But yous kissed me back," he pointed out and she didn't move. "Why?"

The question hung in midair for a long time, unanswered. Frost's face didn't alter a fraction as she stood there, staring into Spot's chest. The bitter cold was a painful reminder to Spot that he didn't have his coat, and it took all of his will to keep his teeth from chattering. Then there was a deep sight from Frost and she dropped her head, mumbling something that Spot couldn't understand. The chestnut hair fell on either sides of her face, hiding her expression.

"Whot?" he prompted and she looked up at him, glaring.

"Jus' cause I kissed yous back don' mean nuttin'," she answered harshly and Spot smirked.

"But ya still kissed me," he pointed out.

"An' why does dis mattah so much ta yous?" She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Cause," he gloated, "I knew I'se could make ya do it again," he boasted and dark fire flashed in Frost's eyes.

"I ain't no prize foah yous ta claim," she hissed. 

"Don' woahy," he shrugged his shoulders. "Yous ain't dat bad a kissah," he enjoyed the expression of rage that crossed her face.

"Gawd you ah such a -" she was cut off.

"A bastahd?" he asked and then nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I'se really am," he watched her face change from one of anger to one of confusion. Had the great Spot Conlon really just insulted himself? "But Is'll tell ya a secret," he leaned down close to her ear and whispered suggestively, "I t'ink dats why you likes me."

Her body tensed noticeably as he pulled back slowly, his words sending anger back into full swing. How could he be so completely insufferable, so incredibly inconsiderate, so unbearably rude, and yet so utterly perfect? Heat flooded her face at the accuracy of his guess, but she would die before she admitted that. Enraged, she spat at his feet, blatant disrespect shining in her eyes. Mirth was shining in his steel blue eyes as he laughed, his breath making clouds in the night air.

"Dat's a nice necklace yous got dere," Spot said, changing subjects so quickly it made Frost's head spin. In an instant he was reaching out and fingering the gold cross that she had forgotten to tuck back inside her shirt when he had interrupted her thoughts. "Wheah'd ya gets it?" he asked and Frost knew he thought she had stolen it.

"It's mine," she said coolly. "An' I didn' take it from no one," she added and Spot's face told her that he didn't believe a word she said.

"Shuah," he bent down to get a close look at it in the dim light. "Is dat real gold?" he asked and Frost shifted uncomfortably.

"Will yous stop pawin' my t'ings?" she reached up her hand and tried to remove his.

This task proved harder than she imagined, as she couldn't pry his fingers off of her necklace. Frowning, she tried harder, but his strong fingers wouldn't budge. Her head was bowed as she tried to see what she was doing, but it wasn't doing much good, she couldn't see anything very well at such a close position. The cold had made her fingers numb and practically useless, but she kept trying and Spot didn't give a fraction of an inch.

"Let go dammit!" she swore looking up from her work briefly to glare at him and had intended to look back down at their entangled hands, but couldn't when she met his eyes.

He was so very much closer than she remembered him being before and he was watching her intently. A magnetic power was held in his intense gaze and she couldn't help but look back. Neither of them moved for a moment, and then before the chance passed, Spot began to lean in. Their hands were still tangled around Frost's necklace, as her eyes fluttered closed, unable to resist the kiss she knew was coming.

For the moments before his lips touched hers, she tried to remember why they couldn't do this. Of all the complication that it would bring, and all of the hurt it would entail. She tried to remember who this boy was, what he was, and that he was probably just using her. She tried to remember that he was just going to forget her just like the rest, and that she couldn't stay in New York long enough to have a relationship with him. 

Gently, Spot brushed his mouth against Frost's as if testing her willingness. Against all of her will and her reasoning, Frost returned his gesture with her own and he stepped closer to her, wrapping one arm around her. Suddenly it wasn't cold anymore as fire spread through their bodies. This kiss didn't have the brute force that its precursor had, but it was just as passionate. It was painfully slow and soft that is only served to increase the ache of longing inside of them.

A million thoughts were running through each of their minds. Neither of them staying focused on any of them for long enough to process them correctly. Lights flashed behind their closed eyes and whatever logic they might have had left them. Leaving them completely to the mercy of their swirling emotions. It didn't matter that Spot's lips hurt, or all of warning bells that were ringing in Frost's mind, nothing mattered in those moments beside what was happening.

Somehow, through all of the jumbled thoughts and all of the shivers running up and down her spine, Frost was able to remember whom she was kissing. More importantly, she able to remember what he was. He was a boy that couldn't be trusted with her heart, and someone with whom she couldn't take this chance. Though she couldn't really pin the reason she had to pull away, she knew she had to, so she did. 

"Let go," she said breathlessly, referring to her necklace that he still held firmly in his good hand.

"No," he responded, leaning in for another kiss and she was helpless to stop it. Though she pulled away again, quickly. 

"Stop," she ordered shakily and he looked at her questioningly. "I'se can't do dis," she tried to put some distance between her body and his.

"Why not?" he stared into her eyes plainly and she felt her resolve weakening. He looked so open, so void of his normal masks of self-confident arrogance.

"Let go," she whispered and he didn't move. "Please, Spot, let me go."

"Why did he call yous Lois?" Spot changed subjects, still holding her close to him and she ducked her head slightly as his masks came back up.

Was that all the kisses had been? A way to extract information from her? She should have known better, she shouldn't have let him get that close. Inside she was seething but she was also incredibly sad. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she avoided his eyes. Why had she ever trusted him enough to let him hold her like this? It didn't matter now though, the kisses had done their job and resisting was useless. She was just so tired of trying to hold it all back.

"Dat's youah name, ain't it?" he prompted and she turned her profile to him, not answering. Her silence was as good as a yes in this case. "Whot's youah bruddah's name?" Spot asked tightening his arm around her waist slightly, enjoying the warmth her small body gave.

"Luke," she mumbled into the darkness and Spot was surprised at the ease to which she gave him information.

"An' why's he chasin' yous?" Spot prompted and her dark eyes flittered towards his as she turned her head back towards him. 

"He wonts me necklace," she looked down as their hands that were still tangled around the golden cross.

"Why?" he whispered, as though asking for a great secret.

"Because," she looked up at him, pausing as she seemed to be debating whether or not to tell him. For a long while she let her words hand in the air before continuing her thought, Spot waited patiently, assured that she would tell. "Because," she said again, dropping her voice below a whisper. "It is a key."

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//If that's all you will be,

You'll be a waste of time,

You've dreamed a thousand dreams,

None seem to stick in your mind…//

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So came the change in leadership of the area of Manhattan. The outgoing Jack Kelly replaced the mysterious Cowboy Sullivan. Known as Cowboy by some of his closest friends. One of those friends was Spot Conlon. Though he only referred to Jack as his friend once, it had made a lasting impression on those around him. The word was not used lightly by the short leader of Brooklyn. 

As it tends to do, time passed and the boys around him grew and some of them left, some of them stayed. Spot Conlon stayed as did his right-hand man, Outsider. While his companion grew tall and lean, Spot stayed shorter, but he held much more power than his counterpart. No one disputed his authority and rumors floated around of various heroic deeds that he had committed.

Perhaps they were heroic to the boys that starved for someone to idolize, but they were nothing but an assortment of petty crimes and theft. One thing was for sure, there was no one in Brooklyn as well known in the lower class children as the infamous Spot Conlon. The enigma that was Spot Conlon held the highest respect of many, and that is how he intended it to stay. 

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//Love has a way,

Of making you stumble,

Making you fumble,

For the right words to say…//

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He let her go after she said that. The arm that had been coiled around her waist withdrew and the hand that had been clamped around her cross released. A key? What kind of answer was that, and did he even want to know? Of course he wanted to know, but he had sensed her withdraw after he she had answered and knew it would be futile to try and pry anything else out of her right then.

The warmth that her lean body had yielded left a painful void, as he stood in the cold, unable to fend off the biting iciness that surrounded him. Though she stood in the same place, he knew that there were walls between them now. The key that hung around his neck bit into his skin as the cold metal reminded him of his own key. Hanging around his neck was a real key, but how could that cross be a key?

Though it was clear that asking her questions would only prove a frustration, he had a million that he was desperate to ask. He hadn't spent several weeks with her not to know her behavior and that anything he asked would either come back as a different question, a cryptic answer, or a complete insult. This girl was the stone you couldn't squeeze blood from. One question remained, how could someone be so close, but seem so far away?

Frost was wondering the same thing because it wasn't just she that had pulled away it was he. Could there possibly be a similar reason for his withdraw? No, she had pulled away because of the intensity of the emotions that she had been feeling, that couldn't have been his reasoning. It was clear that he cared only for the information she could provide and the enjoyment he could gather from her pain. This realization made her draw father back into her self-constructed shell.

It hurt for both of them, but neither could say a word. 

The damage had been done, while it might have seemed like a step forward in their relationship, it was at least ten backwards. Trust that had been shakily developed was being broken now as both of them held back what they really wanted to say. It hurt. A lot. The thing that neither of them knew was that they held the key to their relationship, they held the key to their love. They just had to accept it and then it would be free, but until they did that it would strangle them, killing them slowly. 

Both held parts of the same key, but neither knew how to use it.

"It's cold," Frost said finally, wrapping her arms around herself. "And youah not weahin' a coat!" she laughed mechanically, trying to ease the tension in the situation, Spot didn't move. "We'se should go inside," she turned her body slightly towards the hatch and watched him carefully. His expression was the unreadable stone mask she had come to love and hate.

"Lois," Spot said softly and Frost's eyes met his.

There were so many swirling emotions behind those orbs that even in the pale moonlight, she could see he was confused. Inwardly she wished that she could ease his pain and just tell him everything, but she had trusted him with too much already. Now wasn't the time to offer her heart, for she was sure he would take it and break it like he had done so many times before. In the back of her mind a question echoed. If he doesn't care about me, why would he look like he was hurt?

"Yeah," she prompted, swallowing heavily for the question that she knew was to come.

"Youah bruddah," he paused as if collecting his thoughts. "Luke," he clarified and searched again. "He wonts youah necklace?" Spot asked the futile question, hoping for an answer and Frost stood silently for a moment.

"He wonts da key," she said and Spot was confused by her answer.

"Youah necklace is da key," he stated it more than asked.

"Luke wonts da key," she repeated and Spot scratched the back of his head with his good hand, trying to keep his body from shaking so violently.

"Whot'll he do ta get it?" Spot asked and a sad smile played on Frost's lips.

"Pro'ly kill me," she said it almost like an apology that she would have to tell him such an awful fact, but Spot wasn't surprised.

"Lois?" Spot asked again after a time of silence.

"Yeah Spot?" She asked, her voice strangely hopeful as her eyes met his again.

"I-" he paused and closed his eyes. "I-" he tried again but then opened his eyes and looked at her and something changed. It was barely anything at all, but it was a change and Frost's hopes fell. "I'se t'ink dat we'se should get inside," he said finally and Frost nodded, heading towards the hatch.

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//So tie me,

Around your neck,

And wear me,

Like a key…//

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Frost and Spot didn't talk at all as they returned to the bunkroom. In fact, Frost went straight to bed and stayed there for the rest of the night. Spot, on the other hand, was up late playing cards and listening to the others talk. Listening, he had found, was the greatest tool any leader could have. For while listening, one could find out much about those around him. Though his thoughts were absent and his attention wasn't truly devoted on the words swirling around him, he did pick up an interesting bit or two.

Mostly it was the latest gossip of the group. Who had switched selling spots, whom liked who, how much they had made. So on and so forth, but there was one bit of conversation that Spot perked up when he heard.

"Dere wos a man dat came up ta me taday an' looked at me real funny afore askin' me if I knew a goil named Lois," A girl named Spitfire claimed, wrinkling her nose as though offended by something like that. "I nevah knowed a goil named Lois in me life!"

"A man came up ta me an' asked me da same t'ing!" Spice exclaimed. "Did he have a patch ovah his eye?"

"Yeah!" Spitfire nodded vigorously.

"Wait, whot about dat man dat came in heah da oder day. Wosn't he lookin' foah a goil named Lois?" Outsider added his thoughts and Spot broke from his reverie to listen to the development of these words.

"Yeah," Ghost put in. "An' he had a patch ovah one eye," his brow wrinkled with confusion. "Whose Lois?"

"Any o' you goils named Lois?" Outsider asked the group around him and the females all shook their heads. 

"Whot 'bout Frost?" Spitfire asked. "Don'cha t'ink we'se should ask her if she knows anyt'ing 'bout dis?" She proposed. "Aftah all, we ain't nevah had no trouble wit' dis afore she came heah," she pointed out and a murmur ran through the group.

"She don' know nuttin'," Spot spoke for the first time since he had joined the circle and every eye flew to him.

"Whot da ya mean, Spot?" Outsider asked his leader.

"Jus' whot I'se said," Spot looked at him indignantly. "She don' know nuttin'," he shrugged. "Even if she did, she ain't goin' ta be tellin' yous," he smirked and everyone was quiet for a moment.

"Yous pro'ly know bettah dan anybody," Outsider muttered. "Ya spend enough time wit' her," he added and Spot bristled.

"Whot's dat supposed ta mean?" Spot growled.

"Jus' whot I'se said," Outsider spoke out again his leader mimicking his own words. This was an unusually bold move, even for the second in command.

"Da goil wos causin' trouble," Spot pointed out. "I wos jus' makin' shuah she loyned da lesson she needed ta loin," he let a small smile play on his lips. "Dis goil loyned slowah dan most."

This answer seemed to satisfy the group and no one brought up the subject again. Whatever the mystery man wanted with whoever the strange Lois girl was didn't have anything to do with them, so they didn't care. So very typical of the human race, and Spot didn't say anything else for the rest of the conversation. One by one, the circle of talking heads grew smaller until it was simply Outsider and Spot.

"So dere ain't nuttin' wit' you an' Frost?" Outsider brought up suddenly and Spot looked at him sharply.

"I said dere ain't nuttin' afore," he narrowed his eyes. "Ya don' believe me?"

"Yous do spend alotta time wit' her," Outsider pointed out, after all, Spot was his friend.

"So I spend time wit' her an' dat means I'se likes her?" Spot arched his eyebrow.

"No, it's jus' dat…" Outsider drifted off and he looked at his friend. Spot didn't wait to hear his answer as he stood and headed towards his bunk. Now wasn't the time to talk about this, he didn't want to hear it and Outsider didn't want to be the one to tell him.

So they parted ways before any more toes could be stepped on and went to bed. In the darkness of the quiet bunkroom, Spot breathed out a long soft sigh as he closed his eyes. The weariness that filled his body was fully realized as he lay there in the silence of his comrades breathing. In his imagination he thought that he could hear Frost's breathing above the rest, but he knew it couldn't be so. The romantic idea was nothing more than that, an idea.

Behind his closed eyes he could still feel Frost's lips under his, the wild willingness and the excitement it had brought. Through all of the wonder and the terrifying feelings that the kiss had invoked, but she had pulled away. Why had she pulled away? She herself had said that you could kiss someone without motive or desire. Had that been the case with this?

Through all of these questions, Spot didn't realize one important factor. All he had to do was show that he cared for her, and she would be more than willing to answer anything he had to ask. All he had to do was use the key that he held in his hands. The key to her heart. A sad thing it was that Spot didn't know he had it, and even if he did, he had no idea how to use it.

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A/N: Even though this was a short tacky chapter, it marks the one hundred thousand-word count for this story. Dang, that is a lot of words for one stupid story. That is a 1 with 5 zeros. Maybe this is a hint to end this story soon? Like now? How does that sound? Sounds good to me, but then again I am sick so I am just in a bad mood in general. Anyway, enough of my complaining and onto the review board. I didn't get any reviews for my last chapter, but I had some from the one before that I didn't get to, so I will acknowledge those.

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Fallen Phoenix: Well, well, well, I hope I left you on another cliffhanger. The whole thing is kind of coming into a wider perspective right now. How exciting! Well, the only cure for writer's block is to write. Even if you don't like what you write, it sometimes gets ideas flowing and the general idea for the plot started. Even if you absolutely hate what you wrote, you can always start over and use what you liked about the chapter and take out what you didn't like. Ah, the wonders of being about to select-delete on computers. [ smiles ] AO-hell that made me laugh. I've never heard that, but I am sure that some of my friends that use it would agree. ^_^ I thought it was funny that Spot punched a wall too, but it seemed to fit his character somehow. Brash, irrational when emotional, violent, and sometime just kind of stupid… but that is just like most men….

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Red Cinnamon: Yep her brother, big ol' brother boy. Scary, I hope my brothers never end up like Frost's brother. [ Shudder ] Ha, ha, very lucky Frost to get to touch it! I want to touch it dang it! I hope you've enjoyed the updates. ^_^

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Ireland O'Reily: So now that you are 16 do you get to drive? That is the question of the hour. I can't drive till I am seventeen. [ Mutters something about stupid family rules ] Well I figured you would see the whole family connection thing, but I knew no one would see it was her brother. Well I was pretty sure. Normally in the newsie fictions I read the siblings are "so close" because they bonded through their parents beating them… Well in this case it is different. Anyway, poor Frost is so unsure of how to actually care for someone as herself she is pushing the poor baby Spot away. Aw, don't be sad Spot, I'll take care of you! Well, he wouldn't want me to take care of him because I have this habit of um [ Cough ] beating him up. Your right, I do tend to smash him around quite a lot. [ Giggles ] Poor Spot. I am a terrible author to do that to him, oh well, blame the muses.

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Kaylee: Jack Frost… ha, ha, she was Cowgirl in Manhattan, so that really doesn't matter. Poor Spot isn't too bright for hitting a wall, but he is still hot so that is all that matters, right? Yes, the scary eye patch boy is her brother, not Blink. I need to write a Manhattan fiction sometime… oh well. Anyway, thanks for the review. ^_^

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Ali: Aw shucks, she loves my story. [ Draws pictures with the toe of her foot in the dirt, all embarrassed ] How sweet of you to say so. You are rooting for Spot and Frost? Well I am too, and I don't think Jack will ever catch up with her, but who knows what the muses have planned. They are strange. When I started this story I couldn't help but think how in the world am I going to keep them arguing through this story and not have them always fight the same argument? Well, somehow, I think I have always managed to find some different way to make them argue even if it boils down to the same Spot power trip thing. I'll try and keep this fiction going just for you! Update Oblivious again! I sound like a demanding idiot, I know, but I love it! There is so much I could say about it…. But for now I will just say this: I WANT MORE!aS

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Rae Kelly: Well, welcome to the reader's circle on this fiction. As for the email you sent me, I think The Adventures of Doctor Spot Sounds like an interesting concept. Pursue it when you have the time. It seems that you have several stories out on the table that are yet to be finished, maybe you should do those first before moving on to more? Oh well, I just am not smart enough to have too many stories going on at one time. My poor little brain just can't handle it. Well, thanks for the review! ^_^ And which one of your stories should I start reading next?


	15. April Fools

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: I'm starting to get the hang of typing with one hand, but it is slow going. I got this headset thing that I can use to say the story and it will type the words for me, but sometimes it types the wrong word or doesn't know the word I am saying. Growl. So I don' t like to use that, it is slower than typing with my one hand. Ha, Ha, so I apologize for such slow updates, it is just that I can't type that quickly, so please bear with me. I hope that these chapters are worth the wait.

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG - 13 for swearing and angst.

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Chapter 14: April Fool

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//Back in school they never taught us,

What we needed to know,

Like how to deal with despair,

Or someone breaking your heart…//

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Hints of spring were popping up everywhere over New York as the days seemed to get slightly warmer everyday and the piles of snow and sludge began to shrink. After the one night on the roof, Frost was highly evasive of any kind of contact with anyone, especially Spot. If people had thought her anti-social on the first day she arrived, they were mistaken, for now she didn't even grant answers to most questions. Sometimes she would disappear for hours at a time and Spot knew that she was up on the roof, though he didn't go and seek her. He had already tried to that and he knew that it would only cause more trouble.

Everyday as the weather got warmer, Frost got quieter, and quieter. The quick-witted, sarcastic, mysterious girl had disappeared and it was as if someone completely different had taken her place. Instead of waking earlier than Spot himself, she was now the last one out of bed. Instead of always picking fights, she would simply shrug and move on, seeming to not even care about the fact she had been insulted.

No longer did she approach him about his wounds, or pester him about wrapping his ribs. The normal fuss about his injured hand had stopped all together and the makeshift split was in sore need of repair. The boys had tried to help Spot as well as they could, but he found it more of a painful vexation than help. So Spot had shooed them away and sulked in misery as he tried to mend his own split, wrapping it tighter than it had been before. Frost didn't even seem interested in correcting him, as he knew that somehow he must have been doing it 'wrong.'

As much as this disturbed Spot, he felt unable to do anything about it. It was already clear that the rest of the borough was waiting for him to do something about the girl, it was as if it was a test. Gritting his teeth, he was determined not to act upon the feelings that were pulling him towards her. Frost, in the same, avoided him with direct purpose instead of seeking him out. It was hard but it had to be done. If she gave into all of the emotions she was feeling she would be nothing more than another notch in his bedpost. That was something she wasn't willing to be, for anyone, ever; not even Spot.

It hurts to want someone, and know they don't want you. 

It hurts even more to not let yourself want someone when it is the only thing your desire.

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//Nothing's absolutely definite,

Till it's absolutely,

Completely,

Definitely gone…//

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Maybe she wasn't in Brooklyn, now that she knew he was there, it would be smart of her to skip town. The chance meeting on the street had brought him to an endless search of the Brooklyn area as he scoured every corner and every form of lodging house around. With an intimidating height and towering stature, the boy with an eye-patch was frightening to say the least. His one eye, as black as night, seemed to pierce through everything that it took in.

That damn sister of his had stolen the cross from him and he was going to get it back. There were plenty of places that she could hide in Brooklyn, let alone New York. The idea of him actually finding her was as chancy as him actually finding her after all of these years. Who would have thought a simple southern girl would have managed to get up here to New York, and survive? Not he, that was for sure. After she had disappeared with the necklace he had figured that she dead. 

Lois had never been that tough. Now she had proved him wrong because he knew it had been her that day on the street. No matter what those little street urchins said about not knowing her, he knew. No one else had hair that color and no one else would have run when they had seen him. That boy with steely eyes knew more than he was telling, he in fact, might be the key to finding Lois. 

A sick smile pulled at his thin lips as thought after thought piled in his brain. There were so many options and so many opportunities. If that little newsboy did know something about the girl, he would find it out. Since that night on the street, he hadn't seen the boy again either. This boy however, didn't have reason to run and hide from him like his sister did, so it was likely that he would be able to catch him.

Touching the side of his head, he remembered the knot that had been there for a week or so after his encounter with the little rat. He had a good swing and having a cane hadn't hurt as he had smashed it against is skull. A feisty one that urchin was, but he knew that was always a way to beat someone at their own game. If Lois wasn't in Brooklyn anymore, maybe he would know where she was, and if she was in Brooklyn, maybe he could 'help' him find her. 

Getting others involved wasn't exactly his style, but it wasn't time to get caught up on things like that. Now was time to find his sister, whether she wanted to be found or not. Something told him, she didn't want to be found.

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//Who thought that I,

Could laugh so loud,

Then turn around,

And cry so many tears…//

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As the days grew warmer and longer, selling was getting easier and easier. More people were out on the streets and more people meant better chances of getting all of your papers sold. Selling all of your papers meant that you might be able to buy food and rent for the day. The idea was more than appealing, to all of the newsies, older or younger, boy or girl. Food and board were dreams come true to some, to others it would just become more regular.

Some of those others happened to be Spot Conlon. He ate a fair meal normally once a day, which was much more than the normal fair. For most of the newsies it was whatever they could steal and then if they were lucky, they might be able to buy a decent meal every other day. Though it was true that Spot was an exceptional seller, there were other ways of making money that he had learned. A pickpocket he was, he had been one before he had even known what a newsie was. So it was almost as natural to him as breathing was to others.

He could see a pickpocket clearly among the crowd and would watch them with interest. Their style and technique was what he was really interested in. If they were any good, there were always different angles he could learn from watching. Some were fairly good, and others were not. The ones that weren't so gifted were often caught, some got away, and some didn't. The ones that didn't either got their ears boxed or sent off with the bulls. From the bulls it was a fairly safe bet to guess that they were going to the refuge. A sad fate for any boy. 

Though Spot had gotten out of his fair share of scrapes, one time he hadn't been so lucky. It was right after the strike when he had still been in Manhattan. Somehow he had gotten in the wrong place and the wrong time. It had been quiet until someone screamed. Oh how they had screamed. Loud, long, and piercing screams that could only be wrought from extreme pain. Instinctively curious, but against his better judgement, he had run towards the sound.

The utterance of defilement had been coming from a shop, the door had been busted down and inside there was someone releasing a string of blue curses. Others were coming now and Spot knew that he should have left, but he went inside and saw a man being held down by a large teenage boy. Then it because suddenly clear what was going on. The boy had been intending on robbing this shop and then this man had gotten in his way. The young man looked up and saw Spot as he entered, storming in, his faithful cane absent from his side. It was at the Manhattan lodging house along with his slingshot. 

So much for just going out for a smoke. 

Knowing that it was time to flee, the young man had released the smaller man and darted to the door, shoving Spot over in the process. All of this happened within a matter of seconds and Spot sat dazed on the ground for a few instant before the sound of more charging footsteps brought him forth to reality. Knowing that he had nothing to run from, but feeling the urge to, Spot did so. Perhaps it was the guilt from past encounters with injustice, perhaps it was the instinct that came most natural to him, but whatever it was, Spot dashed away from the scene of the crime. Escape wouldn't come that easily though, for the others that had heard the man's cries saw Spot running from the scene.

"Get him!" they had yelled and the pursuit had begun. 

Every turn and twist of the Brooklyn streets and byways were known to Spot, no one could catch him there, but he was in Manhattan and this was a different story entirely. Though he was competent to his surroundings, the ones that chased him were more so. In a way, the chase had ended even before it had begun. Strong arms grabbed him from behind and the next thing he knew he was in the refuge. No trial had even been held as he was shipped off quickly to the prison. There he had been left almost to rot, alone in the tiny cell that seemed to grow smaller every day. Obviously reform for The Refuge was still in the planning stages. It was worse than when Snyder had been in control. Dozens of rats scurried around him….

Those rats, the same kind that lived on the docks and around the wharf, crawling over the city, infecting it. Some boys were paid to destroy the foul creatures, the rat killers were a few and exclusive group. The job was hard and dirty, sometimes fatal. One bite from an infected rat and death was almost ensured. A terrible life, probably about as bad as being a newsie. Plus, no rat killer could be trusted.

Then again, could anyone be trusted? No, he couldn't even trust his own instincts. They had gotten him in the refuge, a living hell, for six months of solitude, starvation, and sores. Oh how he had sores then. The way his skin would peel and crack from lack of water and from the abuses rendered to him. Unsanitary conditions and filth formed open puss ridden sores on his body, the infection spreading sometimes into his emaciated body, causing fevers. They had left their mark on his body, the most of them on his torso and arms, but they were still there. Painful and constant reminders of his life in the place every working class boy and runaway feared, but he was luckier than most. He had gotten out, gotten away.

Everything was a blur when it came to his time in that place. The sands of the hourglass spilled over themselves, forming on endless river forking in different directions, causing time to lose all sense of definition. If it hadn't been for the small window in his cell, he wouldn't have known night from day after a week in that place. If it hadn't been for that small window, he wouldn't have had fresh air. If it hadn't been for that one small window, he would have lost what little sanity he had managed to maintain in the cage he was held. If it hadn't been for that window, he wouldn't have gotten away.

Cliché as it seems, the window was the only reason he was able to get out. Hour after mindless hour, he would chip away what he could of the bars that held him in. Working until his hands were coated in his own blood, not even able to tell if he had made any progress. The rats could be heard as they scurried along the floor, scampering to find some tiny crumb that he might have dropped. The food that they fed him, when they remembered to feed him, had been terrible, barely edible, but he had torn it apart like a mad animal. Sometimes he had seriously contemplated catching and eating one of the rats. Raw. That could be a death sentence though, and he had somehow managed to keep enough sanity not to do so.

No one else was in the wing where they had kept him, probably solitary for the most dangerous of criminals, so no one heard the constant chipping noises that would come from his cell. Again and again, he would grind at the area around the bars, at the bars themselves, sometimes with nothing more than his bare hands. His fingernails being ripped and torn from their beds, blood spilling over the windowsill, staining it a luscious red to fade into an ugly brown.

The stench had been almost unbearable some days, as his own waste would rot. Some days it was like a sweatbox in there, other days it had been like an icebox. The scent changing with the temperatures, but there was always that sickening smell of mortality. There was always the smell of death. Death was all over that place, maybe not physically, but mentally. The boys would be beaten for disobeying, breaking not only their bodies, but their spirit. They had taken it from the toughest of boys, and they had taken it from Spot.

When Spot would remember this, he couldn't help but long for release. For the passion and fire that he had lost, he couldn't help but wonder where they had gone. Though he wasn't quite sure when he lost them, he knew that they were gone. It was times like these that he needed to get away. It was time like these that he just needed to think. It was times like these that he went to the bridge.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//It's the perfect,

Time of year,

Somewhere far away,

From here…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

Queens was a fairly logical guess as to where he should go next. After grabbing some poor, forlorn newsboy from the street and threatening him in an alley, he told him that the girl for whom he searched might be there. Also, he gave him a very interesting piece of information, a name. Frost, more specifically. A high possibility was held in the chance that this girl was the same as his sister, but he couldn't be sure. Queens however was more of a lead than he had gotten in a long time, so he headed in that direction.

The day was cold though it was late March. April was almost upon them, but the ice of winter still held the city in its firm grip. Though the snow no longer fell and the piles of sludge and snow were melting away slowly, it was clear that true warm weather wasn't to be with them for awhile. The short days had grown longer, but were still shorter than most would have liked. Every moment of daylight was to be used to the best of the ability of the workers. Since electric lights were still incredibly rare, even in the bustling metropolis, lanterns were the primary form of lighting.

The sun was beginning to fade in the distance when Luke made his way to the place that he had been told held the residence of the Queens newsies. It was unlike the Brooklyn boarding house that he had found himself in on one occasion. This seemed to be an old abandoned warehouse that they had taken over for a form of shelter. Most likely it was run by the leader of the group and there was no strictly set rules. If there was a chance that they didn't like him, it could be a bad story for him, but with life come chances. This was one that Luke was willing to take.

Mustering to his full height, Luke opened the door into the Queens 'lodging house.' Laughter and loud voices were heard from behind boxes and crates that formed a narrow corridor of sorts. Passing down its passage silently, he heard merriment and uproarious laughter carrying through the large open building. Whatever their pass-times held, it obviously was one that could amuse. The lights got slightly brighter as he progressed down the hall made of stacked boxes and crates until he was close to where he thought the main action to be held.

For a few moments he stood in the shadows, not even venturing any further into his exploration. Though he was thoroughly confidant in his fighting skills, he also knew that there was little he could do to fend of a whole army of boys, even with his knife. Running a hand through his brown hair, he squeezing his single eye shut firmly, steeling his courage to enter the ring of boys. His courage would have to be completely prepared because before he could make his own entrance a pair of strong hands grabbed him and pulled him sharply into the area that he had heard the noise coming from. 

His single dark eye flew open in shock, too startled to react automatically. As soon as the boy had swung him into the circle and leg go of his arm, making him lose his balance and fall to his knees. Before he stood, he waited for his equilibrium to balance, taking in the sights around him. In fact it was a circle, crates and boxes forming it much as they had the walls of the halls. Different levels were established, bedding thrown carelessly over the tops of them, creating makeshift beds. Ragged looking boys, young and old were looking at him silently. The festivities of earlier were forgotten at his sudden appearance. 

One of the groups, a larger boy, tall and broad of shoulder, stepped beside Luke and gripped his shoulder firmly, forcing him to stand. A wave of dizziness passed through him and he swayed slightly, but he wasn't allowed to slump in the slightest for which he was glad. Already he had made a fool of himself in front of this group. They probably had already labeled him as a weak intruder that would bring them nothing but trouble. A position that Luke most definitely didn't want to be in.

"Bruisah, whot da hell is dis?" Another boy stepped forward, not as large as Luke's captor, but more intimidating. Automatically, Luke registered this boy as the leader.

"I'se found him out in da hall," The large boy, Bruiser, explained. "I dunno whot he wos doin' out dere, but I ain't nevah seen him afore, has yous?"

"Nah," the leader stepped forward and looked at him even closer. "I ain't nevah seen nobody like dis one afore," frowning, he taking in the eye-patch very studiously. "Ya got dat on foah show oah do yous really need it?" he inquired gruffly and Luke bristled.

"I need it," he growled, narrowing his one good eye.

"You ain't from 'round heah," the leader raised his eyebrows, hearing Luke's strange accent. "Whot ah yous doin' heah?" he questioned, taking a step closer and Luke straightened, easily taller than his challenger, and captor.

"I'm looking for someone," he said, trying to stay calm. "A girl," he clarified and a few boys along the edges chuckled.

"We don' have goils heah," the leader snipped quickly.

"This girl was short, with chestnut hair," Luke plowed ahead, not heading their words. "Eyes the same color as my eye, and her nose has a big bump on it," he described her basic features and a flash of recognition darted across the leader's face.

"No, dere ain't no -" he started.

"But Brink, dat dame sounds like -" Bruiser started only to be cut off as well.

"Dere ain't no one 'round heah like dat now," the leader, now labeled Brink, ground out. Sending a message of underlined warning in his breath as he stared at the one who had interrupted him.

"I might have some information on her if you are interested in helping me find her," Luke bargained knowing that he had hit a vein.

"Whot kinda infoahmation?" Brink's eyes narrowed with distrust.

"The kind that benefits both sides," Luke answered cryptically and Brink looked annoyed.

"I ain't got time ta deal wit' dis," he grumbled under his breath. "Get 'im outta heah," he ordered.

"But Brink-" Bruiser began.

"Now!" Was Brink's final hissed exclamation and Bruiser knew better than to challenge him again.

With that, Luke was part of the rather painful process of being dragged out the same way he came. So much for diplomacy, there hadn't even been a chance at any real bargaining. His ox-like captor wasn't gentle in the slightest as he dragged more than led Luke to the exit. Even though he would have been perfectly capable of walking out himself, apparently this was Queens' idea of 'getting off easy.' For this he was grateful, but for the finger shaped bruised that he knew would be on his shoulder tomorrow, he was not. The door was open in a flash and with one hard, final shove, Bruiser sent Luke reeling out into the night streets. 

Muttered curses and foul things escaped from Luke's mouth as he crashed to the ground for the second time that night. A mental note was made that Queens was an unreasonable, surly group with little intelligence. Perhaps that was the way it was with all of the newsie groups. At least Brooklyn had let him have the decency to actually walk on his own out the door and onto the street. Though he had been escorted, he had been treated with at least a little humanity. Picking himself up and brushing off his soiled clothes, Luke absently adjusted his eye patch.

Just as he turned to leave he heard the door open behind him. Twirling around, he half expected to find the same brute sent as an assailant, this however was not the case. A lean boy with medium stature and a mass of shaggy brown hair emerged. Though he didn't look like he presented a threat, Luke was wary of these Queens' boys. Who knew what kind of tricks they had up their sleeves? Perhaps in the few instants he had been a witness to their conversation, he had heard too much, and they had sent this older boy to finish the job.

"What do you want?" Luke asked harshly and the boy looked at him, his face shadowed.

"Who said dat I'se wont ta yous?" Luke could hear the ironic mirth in his tone.

"Logical guess," Luke covered smoothly, stiffening as the boy stepped from the shadows, closer to him.

"Whot if I'se told yous dat logic ain't nuttin' moah dan a load o' shit?" the boy ducked his head to light a cigarette as he spoke.

"Then I'd have to disagree," at this statement, the boy chuckled under breath, taking a long drag from his cigarette before looking up at Luke. 

Immediately Luke was struck by the boy's unusual eyes. One was a blue as light as the sky on a summer's day, and the other was nearly as dark as Luke's. Both held an evil glint that he looked at Luke, his thin mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. Though he wasn't the largest or brawniest of boys, Luke could sense the power that he held and knew that this boy was probably a little smarter than the average street rat.

"Why would yous disagree?" The strange boy with two-toned eyes inquired.

"Because most anything can be solved by logic," Luke explained.

"Evahy t'ing 'cept wheah yous lil' sistah be," the boy took a long drag from his cigarette as he started knowingly into Luke's one eye.

"I never said anything about looking for my sister," Luke bristled, this boy was keen.

"Didn't ya now?" the boy pretended to be shocked. "Yous look like her," the boy studied him. "An' whot oder reason would yous have ta be lookin' foah her?" an ironic smile pulled at his lips. "I do t'ink dat wos logic," he pointed out, his strange eyes glittering with self-amusement.

"You know her?" Luke gaped.

"I might," the boy nodded slowly. "Depends on a couple t'ings."

"Things like what?" Luke pried.

"Why ah yous lookin' foah her?" he inquired.

"I have some personal business to work out with her," Luke said professionally. "And I happen to know she is in New York, a certain place in New York. Since I'm new here, some help from someone more familiar to the territory would be appreciated," he sounded more like a machine spouting off programmed phrases than anything did. Knowing that he was still possibly in mortal danger kept Luke from spewing out the random harsh words and profanity that he would have normally used.

"Poysonal business, eh?" the strange boy dug deeper. "Whot kinda poysonal business?"

"She has something that is mine, and I want it back," Luke answered simply, giving some information, but keeping most.

"Whot ya goin' ta do wit' da goil aftah yous got whot yous wont?" the boy continued to smoke his cigarette, the cheap smoke swirling up into cool night air with every exhale.

"Probably nothing," Luke told the truth. If he knew his sister, he would probably have to beat her within an inch of her life before she would give any information that he wanted. "Why?" he arched on eyebrow, curious as to where these questions were going.

"Well," the boy sucked another breath of toxic smoke into his lungs before continuing. "It seems dat yous an' me ah lookin' foah da same goil," he informed. "An' I'se got some - issues ta - discuss wit' her," he chose his words carefully. "An' I might be willin' ta help ya find da dame _if_ aftah yous done wit' her, I'se get her," he bargained, his voice held a lethal tone.

"What kind of issues?" Luke questioned, having his turn as the inquisitor.

"Poysonal ones," the boy returned sarcastically.

A long moment passed before Luke agreed. "Fine," he sighed deeply. "After I'm done with her, you can do what you want to her," he consented, extending a hand and the strange boy spat in his hand and reached to clasp his with Luke's. Instantly, Luke recoiled, bring his hand back to his torso. The strange boy looked at him curiously. 

"Whot?" he asked, looking down at his hand irritably.

"You just spat in your hand," Luke pointed out and the boy rolled his eyes. Wiping his hand on his shirt he extended it again, and Luke clasped it.

"Da name's Lice," the boy with two-toned eyes explained, bringing his hand back to his side. "Now tell me whot yous knows 'bout da goil?"

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//I'm choking,

Heart broken,

But unrequited,

But I will be there…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

The bridge was quiet as it always was late at night. Today was April first, and the winter weather was slowly being beaten back into a mere memory. Though no matter what the weather happened to be, the night always held a certain chill that made Spot shiver. Smoke from the cigarette he held turned and swirled in the night air. Its clouds forming eerie patterns across the night sky, serving as a mild distraction from the thoughts that pressed in his mind.

The encounter with the Pullvines was now nothing more than a memory that was spurred by the pain he could still feel in his ribs. The bruises and swelling had all disappeared; the cuts had all but vanished. His hand was the only thing that caused him any continuous pain. The broken bones seemed determined to stay broken and not to show any signs of healing. Perhaps they had, and he hadn't noticed, but still they ached terribly. Almost everything he had been able to do before he had broken his hand, he was able to do. Such as use his slingshot, but still, it was a sign of weakness that he didn't like to have.

Though physical pain was a welcome distraction from the emotional distress he was suffering. He was all but going insane with inner-turmoil. Whoever had written the rules about being a leader, should be shot, burned, and then whatever remains were left, shot and burned again. It wasn't capable of caring, he just wasn't allowed to. Just because he was the infamous Spot Conlon didn't mean that he couldn't feel pain like the rest. Every day he knew what it felt like to give up something that he wanted. Thus was the sacrifice of power, the sacrifice of leadership.

There was so much that he had never been able to do, able to show. Somehow he felt robbed of the experiences that so many others were allowed to have. Actually being able to show that you truly care for someone, or actually letting yourself care for someone. Caring meant that you had emotions and emotions meant that you most likely had weakness. Weakness wasn't permitted, so leaders weren't allowed to care. The only emotions they were permitted to express were anger and hate. Everything else was masked behind the self-confidence and intimidation for which he was renowned.

Tonight, as he stood on the bridge like he had so many other nights, he wanted, more than anything, to break the rules. To shatter that pre-made legislation that had been formulated by some unknown person and builds his own guidelines. Ones that would allow him to be what he wanted to be, to have what he desired. This, however, he knew would be nothing more than a sure way to be exiled by the group. Brooklyn didn't want someone to be kind to them, they wanted someone to dominate them. The enigma that was Spot Conlon was someone who was cool and hard as granite, a stronghold, not someone that fell in love. 

How many times had he bragged over his conquests or his escapades with different girls? How many times had he paraded about with the finest looking girls of his social class? Girls that flaunted their sexuality and invited stolen kisses fawned over him and he enjoyed it. How many times had he relished their company? It made him feel cheep, degraded, used in some strange way. Before it had always been an escape, but now it was just humiliating. Somehow it seemed that the momentary pleasure he had searched out only led to extended pain.

Flinging his cigarette over the edge of the bridge he stared into the darkness for awhile longer, feeling the call of the plunge more strongly than he had in a long time. Pushing away from the edge, Spot moved to the middle of the bridge, and began walking back to the land. As if somehow being away from the ledge he would be able to fend off the pull. Tonight wasn't the night, that he would seek solace in death. 

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//Is that what you call a get away?

Tell me what you got away with?

Cause I've seen more spine in jelly fish,

I've seen more guts in eleven-year-old kids…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

Depression would be one way to describe the feelings that were prominent in Frost's world. She hurt and she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe she was all too sure, and that was why her melancholy mood had flowed into her waking and sleeping hours. The money she had earned was only a few dollars short from the fare she needed to get to Chicago. A few dollars that she was dreading having to earn. Every time she stepped out on the streets she was putting herself in mortal danger. 

Luke was here.

She had seen him a few more times since their first little run-in. Fortunately she had seen him before he had seen her and had managed to hide. It was only a matter of time before he saw her first, she knew. Luck was a funny thing, and it only stayed with one person for a fleeting span, then hurried to the next. Though it was true she had enough money to get to other destinations, Frost wanted to go west. That was one place her brother would never think to look for her. 

Boston, the city she had been in before New York was out of the question, as was her hometown of Richmond. Trenton was always an option, but that was still too close. A drastic change was in order for permanent and complete escape. Maybe after Chicago she would be able to go somewhere else, somewhere farther, maybe even go to Jack's Santa Fe. There was no way that Luke would find her out there. Of course she had thought that there had been no chance of him finding her here in New York. In a way, he really hadn't yet. Yet.

It was all a matter of time, a matter of luck, a matter of fate. If the variables all added up in Luke's favor, there could be problems. Problems that would most likely end in her death. So she was going to run, make a get away, a quick exit. She had done it before, she could do it again, but this time things were different.

Every other time she had left an area, she had simply left behind a person she had created, a persona that died a long with the feelings she had felt there. Then she had come to Brooklyn, cold as ice and just wanting to escape it all. She had come on the pretence that everything would be the same as it had always been, but it wasn't. There was a boy here that she had heard of, but never met. The mighty Spot Conlon, and in him she found a challenge. This boy wasn't as dumb as the others had been, and he seemed to take pleasure in bargaining and manipulating people to serve his own purposes. A master of thieves and runaways was all he was, but she was one of those runaway thieves.

Her intention had never been to tell him as much as she had. Though she knew that she had been caught fair and square in her own game of manipulation and mistrust. Being able to hold him off long enough had been the real trouble. Before their amorous rendezvous, Spot's pursuit of information had been heated. Now though, his interest had seemed to wane to its entirety. Avoidance of conversation was now a regular part of their schedules as the days passed and time seemed to crawl.

Could it be that Spot had simply wanted to add her to his list of conquests? He himself had said that he had just wanted to see if he could get her to kiss him again. Why had she kissed him? That mistake had been altering to more than one plane of her life. Why did she have to care so much? She made a mistake, she had made them before, why was this one so different? The answer was clear even though she didn't want to admit it. 

She was in love.

Nothing would ever come from it she knew. With this knowledge she waited one night for everyone to go to sleep. The soft breathing throughout the room signaled her to the time that she could escape. Trains always ran late at night, she could hear their whistles blowing into the early morning hours. She had enough money to buy food for her journey, but money didn't matter right now. On the breaks between trains she would be able to 'borrow' a few dollars from various patrons that happened to share the same train as she.

In reality those few dollars were unnecessary precautions that were more of a delay for her leaving than for any practical purpose. She had more than enough for the ticket fare, food, and a little emergency money. The extra that she had been wanting was more of a little nest egg. The few dollars she wanted wouldn't have been hard to earn either. A few quick pickpocket jobs and she would have plenty. Granted that she wasn't caught in the act.

Though that night of April first, she made a decision. Now was the time to leave, she didn't have the ability to take chances anymore. It was late at night and she was lying in her bed, her clothing still on from that day. Everything she owned was neatly stored in her small bag, ready to be taken with her. A note she had written clutched tightly in her hand as she heard him leave.

Where he was going, she didn't know, but she didn't want to see him again. If she did, she might stay. It was all for the best, she knew, it had to be this way. This was the only way that she would be able to live. Life was certainly more important than love, right? Again and again she told herself that it was so, knowing that it was all a lie, but knowing that she still had to leave. So after several minutes had passed since Spot's exit, she too climbed from her bed, taking her things with her. Going to his now vacant bunk, she set the note along with a few items tied up in a worn handkerchief. A beautiful goodbye as she set out of the lodging house for what she knew would be her last time.

So on that first April night, with all of her earthly possessions, Frost ran.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//Something they can't,

Teach in school,

I guess that I'm,

Just an April fool…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

A few days passed from their first meeting and Luke and Lice had seen each other again a few times. Luke had given Lice the little information that he had known about his sister. That she was probably in Brooklyn and under the alias of Frost. For Lice, that was enough. If he were lucky, he would probably be able to find her without ever seeing that other sap.

So Specter had been stupid enough to stay in New York. She had always been a smart girl, a fire-pistol at that too, but she didn't always make the best choices. Staying in New York was definitely stupid. Grinding his teeth, he reflected on the words they had exchanged._ I ain't nevah goin' ta be youah goil!_ She had exclaimed, refusing him. _I'se Brink's goil_. She reminded. 

Brink. At the though of his 'fearless' leader, he spat vehemently. The only reason he had stayed in power so long was because of that girl. Specter had been the brains of the operation, and that was clearer than ever now that she was gone. For being such a smart powerful girl, she sure was an idiot. Together, they could have easily overthrown Brink and taken Queens without much of a struggle at all. As a team they would have been able to rule supreme, unchallenged. 

__

I could be a bettah leadah dan yous! She had yelled and he knew that it was true. The small girl had held all of the right personality traits and charisma to control the boys, even if she was terribly small. If she ever came back to Queens, she could ruin his whole plan. Brink would instantly take her back, Lice knew. The fool, couldn't he see her for what she really was? The girl was more trouble than she was worth.

Though if she did come back to Queens, everything he had been scheming and planning for so long would be ruined. That couldn't happen, he wouldn't let it happen! Right now he was so close to his goal that he could almost taste it. Though he had put her in her place that night, he knew that she would be a constant threat unless she was removed. So his thoughts progressed as he wandered the streets of Brooklyn the first night in April. A chill still holding in the air as winter faded into spring.

No one else was out except for the random streetwalker or the occasional drunkard. The homeless had all found some sort of shelter to fend off the night and were sleeping. So far, his search for Specter had been fruitless, not only had he not seen her, he hadn't even had a clue to where she might be. Maybe Luke had simply been lying to him. No, there had been a real desire to find this girl in him, Lice had been able to see it in his lone eye and his words. Whatever Specter had that was his, he wanted it and he wanted it badly. Perhaps there could be a bargaining tool in this. Smiling to himself he wandered the streets of Brooklyn, unsure of really where to go.

The call of a train whistle was heard loudly as it approached the station. The red-eye train seeming to want to alert the area to its arrival. Train stations were often interesting places to sell papers, but they were also interesting places to pickpocket. A few extra cents would be nice, he reasoned as he headed slowly in the direction of the station. Surely the stationmaster would think it unusual that he was out so late, so he needed to make his appearance in good timing with the exit of the other passengers.

Sure enough, the train had just pulled in the station when he arrived, still lurking in the shadows. One by one the passengers all got off looking worn and in need of sleep. The poor saps would be easy picking. As he scanned the small crowd for potential 'customers' he saw something that made his heart stop for an instant. A small girl sitting discretely on a bench, half-hidden in the shadows. Her long chestnut colored hair pulled back in a single braid, her defined profile highlighting the bump on her nose. So she was leaving New York.

That however wasn't the only motivation Lice had for finding her. If she really had ties with this Luke, perhaps he would be willing to pay a handsome price for his 'prize.' Whatever she had was definitely of extreme worth to Luke, so it was most likely that he would pay. Always interested in money, Lice secretively pulled a single blade from his belt. Hiding it as well as he could, he picked his way through the crowd and reached Frost just as she stood.

"'Scuse me, miss," he said taking her arm and pressing the blade into her back. "I t'ink dat we'se got some t'ings ta talk 'bout," he smiled wickedly as she looked up at him in complete fear and submission.

Obviously she hadn't forgotten that night and it was clear that he still held power over her that way. Her violent trembling showed that. A pleasurable wave of control swept over Lice as he looked at her and he sneered. "Now be a good goil an' come wit' me," he instructed. "An' don' woahy," he comforted. "One night wit'choo wos enough."

Frost's luck had run out.

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//Would you look at her,

She looks at me,

She's got me thinking,

About her constantly…//

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Weary and downhearted, Spot returned to the lodging house. As he had so many other nights, he stole silently up the stairs, too exhausted to care about aches and pains running through his body. Softly he opened the door to the bunkroom and stole silently towards his bed. Stripping off the outer-layer of clothing he wore, he climbed into his bunk and lay down.

An unusual crinkling startling him and he sat back up. Reaching behind him, he found the offending noisemaker next to a makeshift sack of some sort. It was too dark to see what they were, but it was clear that they weren't his. Frowning, he wondered how they had gotten there and he slipped out of bed once more. Taking the candle that was near his bunk he lit it to find a small sack made from a handkerchief and a note. 

The dim light from the candle wasn't enough to disturb any of his roommates as it flickered across the cheap wrinkled paper. What was this? Unfolding it, he found more writing inside. Holding the paper close to the light, he squinted against the darkness, trying to make out the words. Finally he was able to.

__

Dear Spot,

I left tonight and I'm not coming back. My train will be half way to Chicago by the time you get this letter - 

That was all he read of the proper grammar. All of the sudden it was too terribly clear what this was. Instantly his eyes shot from the paper to the bunk where Frost should have been, she wasn't there. A string of soft profanity flowed from him as he put the letter and things back up on his bed and began to hastily redress.

He didn't have time for silence as he blew out the candle and dashed out the door. All of his exhaustion forgotten and his aches were gone as he ran towards the train station. The fateful whistle was blowing as he plowed ahead, moving faster than he had in his entire life. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Spot was honestly afraid. The rules that he had been contemplating only a few instants earlier had been forgotten and he hurried onward to the place he knew he needed to be.

Why hadn't he told her when he had the chance? Why hadn't he let her know when he could have? Why had he been so stubborn? Now she was probably gone, he would never find her. Even if he followed her to Chicago there was absolutely no way he could find her in that place. She might as well have gone to China! It would have been easier to find her there. Why had he been such a fool, to just let her go the way he had?

__

Gawd, he prayed silently as he ran. _Please jus' lemme find her!_

Such an April fool….

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A/N: This is my ode to broken thumbs, sung to the tune of "Yankee Doodle." [ I hate broken thumbs I do, they are the biggest pains, it makes it awful hard to type, even this refrain! Broken thumbs are no fun, they are nothing but hell, broken thumbs are stupid, I don't like them very well! ] Okay, so with a little imagination, that almost works with the song. Come on, I am so far from being a songwriter it isn't even funny! Anyway, enough of my pointless rambling and onto the thank yous.

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Ice: Hey, I am sorry that you haven't really been happy with your story, and I am also sorry that it took me _so_ long to read and re-review your revised edition! Life has been major crazy, but I don't want to bore you with the details. ^_^ So I'm not even getting into it. You love my chapters? Aw, you sweet dear. [ giggles ] Thank you so very much and may the muses be kind to you. ^_^ 

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Skittles: First and foremost: Happy _very_ belated birthday wishes! [ sings: happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear skittles, happy birthday toooo you ] Moving along…Well it sounds like you have had a busy, busy, time! Wow, I hope that your sister is all right, that is no fun. Have you ever looked into Chiropratics to find out what's the matter with her. I have muscle spasms in my neck where my muscles lock and I can't move my neck at all! (talk about pain!) But my chiropractor makes me all better. ^_^ At least everything is better now, right? Yeah, well, Internet is fickle, but be glad that you have it back now! Yeah, they kissed, but I am afraid that this relationship is pure angst. They are both so stubborn all of the time! Neither one of them knows how to give at all. [ sigh ] I promise that sometime I am going to write a romance. I will, a real one, where they aren't all angst ridden all the time! Well, I have to go now, but take care of yourself and thanks for the reviews!

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Ali: Well that was the most non-to-the-point-to-the-point review I have ever gotten! Yeah, it would really help if they weren't so dense, but they are and I have to keep them in character. Already I let them slip out way too much and it makes the story suck. [ growl ] Yeah, Luke is really stupid. I hate him a lot, but I created him, rather sad isn't it? I hate the Pullvine's too. [ growls again ] Well, I promise that I am going to write a romance sometime, so it won't just be a completely angst ridden relationship all of the time. How does that sound? Then you can have all the little romantic daydreams that you want. Hmm… maybe it would help if _I_ had a love life for inspiration… but I don't. Boys are dumb. Anyway, enough laments over my non-existent love life. I updated this story with a broken thumb and a whole bunch of other problems, so you can update "Oblivious," all right? ^_^ Yeah! Take care and I look forward to your next review…. You promised a doozey. -_^

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Ireland O'Reily: Yep, Frost and Spot are stubborn, but you've gotta love them. If I made them non-stubborn I would have to change the genre from angst to something else! Everyone knows that all of my fictions have to have angst as at least one of the primary categories. ^_^ Thanks for the compliments to my music taste. A lot of my inserts are fairly random in style. I've had anything from emo to country to metal to Broadway, but I feel that is the way it should be. Whatever lyrics fit the time, right? Anastasia is possibly one of my top ten favorite movies! (at least animated ones) Yeah, so it is basically as fake as it could possible be... but it is still a _great_ movie IMHO. Fabulous! Oh and I love country music, well the older stuff than the newer stuff, but I still love it. I don't care what everyone else says about it, I like it, so there! There is no hurry to get your license, I just want mine because then I can get a job and have money! I need money for drama! AGH! Thanks on the 100,000-word count, and I am glad that you have enjoyed them. Take care of yourself!

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Rae Kelly: hey there stranger! [ laughs: I've always wanted to say that ] There was an update for you, I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry I haven't gotten around to reading any of your other fictions, but I just haven't had time as of late. I think when I get to it I will probably read "To the Four Corners" because I had been thinking about reading it before you even reviewed any of my stories! Ha, ha! So when I have time (maybe over spring break) I will definitely check it out! God bless.


	16. If Only

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: Okay, well, I hadn't touched this story in about… umm… a month and I got my cast off and I was like, dang it! I am going to write a stupid chapter! So here I go, sitting down and not moving until I get this finished, so if it is kind of random, hard to fallow, or out of sorts, blame my muses. I am a little rusty here. Anyway, here goes everything.

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG-15 for adult situations, language, violence, and angst; just like the rest of my chapters.

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Chapter 15: If Only

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// Dying to try again,

But I missed,

My chance,

And now she's gone…//

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His legs burned as they pumped hard, pounding the ground with each long stride. The vibrations from the impacts were felt in his healing ribs and hand with startling pain, but onward he pressed. The soft feel of sweat dripping down his cheek and forehead went unnoticed as his lungs flamed in protest from lack of air. The exhaustion of the day was forgotten as he pressed onward, pushing himself to the ultimate limit of endurance. A blast of a train whistle served only to speed his feet as he dashed towards the train station. 

Arrival would come to late for Spot as he came to the landing platform just as the last car pulled past. Loud gasps could be heard as he scanned the few people still milling about the area. There was no sign of a chestnut haired girl. Stumbling over his weary feet, he moved to the ticket counter where a middle-aged man waited. His billed cap and pin stripped shirt designating him an employee of the railway.

"Can I help you, boy?" he asked, his mouth moving from behind a full face of whiskers that matched his graying brown hair.

"A goil," Spot gasped. "Shoyt - chestnut heyah - black eyes," he breathed heavily as he filled the description. "Did she-" he coughed, trying to suck air into his deprived lungs. "-buy a ticket?" Spot finally managed and the man looked at his warily.

"It isn't railway policy to give informa-" he started and Spot slammed his hands down on the counter in front of the metal bars that separated him from the man.

"Did she?" he demanded, his eyes flashing to a shade of steely gray as anger clouded his face.

"I'm sorry, but I can't-" that was all the attendant got out before Spot's good hand reached out with lightning speed and shot through the bars. Grasping the collar of the man, he yanked him forward, the weariness in his body forgotten in desperation that only someone in love could feel.

"Did she?" Spot's eyes narrowed menacingly, his powers of intimidation kicking in full swing. "Oah didn't she?" his heavy breathing pulsated through the night air. Even though Spot's size was small, the man couldn't help but taste the cold metallic shock of fear as he felt himself be yanked forward towards the metal bars.

"A girl did come here," he spoke hurriedly. "Bought a ticket on the train that just left," he offered and Spot's grip loosened.

"To Chicago?" Spot's voice made it clear that he already knew where she was going.

"To wherever she gets off," the man drew back as Spot released his collar.

It was then that Spot realized that the few people that had been on the landing platform were now watching him attentively. So with a nod of his head to the railway employee, Spot pulled his cap over his eyes and set off numbly into the dark night. Though he had known that she had gone, there had still been the faintest glimmering of hope that she might have remained or that she might have still been at the station. This, however, wasn't the case as Spot had learned.

Frost was gone. Disappearing just as quickly as she had come that cold winter night. It had been late January then, now it was April. How rapidly time had passed as she had been there. From one whirlwind moment to the next, fate had tossed them together, but for what? What if he had told her he loved her? Would she have stayed, or would she have left sooner? 

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Pro'ly woulda left soonah, he thought bitterly to himself looking up at the night sky.

It was a clear night, the endless expanse of sky stretching above the city. The stars were twinkling merrily above him, seeming almost to laugh amongst themselves. They all had a friend up there in the black backdrop. A companion in the cold dark world in which they lived. Spot had nothing. The metaphorical happiness that the stars above portrayed was nothing more than a caustic jibe to his already stinging wound. 

__

Five minutes, he lowered his eyes from the heavens and continued to trudge down the streets. _Dats all I'se need_, he hung his head in defeat. 

If only he had been a little faster. If only he had gotten to the station a little sooner. If only he hadn't been so worried about what the others thought. If only he hadn't been so worried about his own reputation. If only he had been able to admit it to himself. If only he had taken advantage of all of the times they had together. If only he had been able to somehow been able to stop Luke from ever showing up.

If only he knew that Frost was still in New York….

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//Three thirty in the morning,

Not a soul in sight,

The city's looking,

Like a ghost town…//

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The streets were bare of humanity as Lice made his way down the byways, Frost in tow. His knife was still firmly pressed against her back as he led her down various pathways. The girl's mind was working frantically as she tried to devise a sort of plan to escape the grip of this boy. She had been so close to freedom, but now she was anything but free. Profanity was on her tongue as she clenched her jaw shut, fighting against her will to give this boy a piece of her mind. Fear kept her in check, for she still remembered the fateful night not that long ago.

Barely three months ago, she had a different name, one of Specter. Queens had been her place of residence as she had been the only girl in the main Queens borough. Acquiring such a position hadn't been easy, but nothing in her life had been handed to her, so she had been able to fight for it. That borough had been her home for the entire duration of the strike, and for more than six months after that. It seemed that nine months was the total number of months she had spent there, but she wasn't quite sure.

Though she remembered the night she had run, she remembered why she had run. Being the girl of the leader didn't grant you instant immunity, especially when you were the main power behind the leader. Many of the boys had little or no respect for Brink as their superior, but they did respect Specter. It was clear that she had definite attributes that would categorize her as a leader, but she was a girl which would keep her from ever controlling Queens in that time.

However, if she had the right front man, the pull she could have would be phenomenal. One boy had this exact idea and had the desire to be in power. The boy was Lice. The strange lad who kept mainly to himself would watch the world from behind his two-toned eyes. His only real friend had seemed to be Brink, and in return Brink trusted Lice. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, until one cold night in late December he caught Specter and pulled her into an alley.

"Whot do ya wont Lice?" Specter had asked harshly, her impatience showing in her voice.

"Be my goil," he had stated right up front, not wasting any time on formalities. Specter had frowned, her jaw dropping slightly as she looked like she had no idea what he was talking about.

"Whot?" she gaped, her tone that of disbelief.

"Be my goil," he had repeated and she shook her head as if to clear her thoughts.

"Ah yous crazy?" she accused. "I'se Brink's goil," she had shook her head again and made motions to walk away, but he had caught her by the arm and slammed her back against the brick wall. "Whot da hell ah yous doing?" she gasped against the pain.

"Be my goil," he gripped her wrist as she reached for the brass knuckles in her pocket.

"Lemme go," she had struggled, but he was too strong for her. "Whot do you wont?" she had demanded breathlessly after finding that her struggling was useless.

"Get ridda Brink, be my goil," he elaborated slightly on his previously repeated statement.

"Why da hell do ya wont me ta be youah goil?" she put on a front of superiority.

"You an' me ah goin' ta take ovah Queens," he had informed.

"Whot?" she had been flabbergasted.

"You an' me bot' know dat Brink ain't half da leadah I'se could be," he bragged, his strange eyes had glittered with an unspoken passion. For a moment she just looked at him before she started to laugh. Again, his eyes darkened and his brow furrowed. "Whot's so funny?" he demanded roughly, slamming her back against the wall, stopping her laughter.

"Yous bein' a leadah," she had snapped, pain sobering her.

"I'se goin' ta be da leadah, an' yous goin' ta be my goil," he growled, whatever gentleness that might have been there disappearing in a rage.

"No I ain't Lice," she had denied. "An' you ain't goin' ta be nobodies leadah," she summoned up all of her courage and intimidation, knowing she needed to use them. "I could be a bettah leadah dan yous!" she had exclaimed rashly and the truth of the words didn't sit will with the angered Lice.

"I hoped dat yous weah smahtah dan dis Spectah," Lice said, his voice was almost piteous. "So I guess we'se goin' ta have ta do dis da hahd way," at those words, his strange eyes had sparkled ominously.

"Yous bettah lemme go," Specter's voice had trembled noticeably as her mask of self confidence had slipped.

"I ain't lettin' yous go doll 'till I'se get whot I'se wont," he had smiled then, a terrible smile that sent a cold chill down Specter's spine. Instantly, he had slammed her back against the wall again, her head snapping back against the brick with a sickening crack. Specter wasn't in Queens anymore she was floating along the sky. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she was faintly aware that she was being dragged into a building. 

Cold air stung her bare flesh, hot tears scalding her cheeks as Lice took her to hell and back. No matter how she begged and pleaded, he wouldn't listen as he took her and shredded her innocence. The ropes around her wrist chaffed and burned as she struggled but every time she did, he would strike her. Why hadn't she run when she had the chance? After what seemed an eternity, he had let her go. Before he had, he had whispered a warning in her ear.

"Tell anyone, and I'se got a few witnesses dat says yous weah wit' dem," his hot breath had filled her ear canal. "Doin' t'ings dat Brink would kill foah," his voice was a dangerous low as he traced the rim of her ear with his tongue. One more rough kiss was delivered to her bruised mouth before he sliced the binds on her wrists and walked from the place, leaving her alone to dress herself.

The night of hell had passed, but never to be forgotten. If only she had run. If only she had somehow moved faster or thought quicker. If only Lice had never come up with such a foul plan. If only she had never come to New York. If only she had never left Harlem, or Manhattan. If only she had picked somewhere else. If only she had controlled her tongue. If only she had controlled her temper. If only….

Again and again, the scenes of the terrible violation played through her mind as Lice guided her down the streets. _One night wit'choo wos enough_, he had said. If that was so, what on earth did he want with her? Surely he didn't think she intended to return to Queens, not after the humiliation and pain he had caused her. The mere thought of him sent chills down her spine, as the painful wounds were ripped open yet again. Now as he held her captive at knifepoint, she was nearly paralyzed with fear.

It didn't seem possible that the night could get any worse, that anything could happen that would possibly heighten the displeasure of the events. Though it seems whenever it seems this way, something always happens to make it just one bit more uncomfortable. That night was no exception to the rule as yet another twist of fate drew a painful expression onto Frost's face. The abandoned street was suddenly not so abandoned as three tall shadowed figures stepped from the alleyway just as Lice and Frost reached the Queens territory.

"Look whot we'se got heah," a terribly familiar voice rang out in the night. "It's ouah lil' friend, an' she brought us someone ta play wit'," the speaker stepped from the shadows to revealed his identity. It was Chester Pullvine.

The Pullvine brothers had finally caught up with Frost.

If only they hadn't….

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//For a moment,

All the world right,

How could I have know

That you'd ever say goodbye…?//

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It had been hard and feverish, then soft and slow, quick and gentle, passionate. The feelings were warm, wild, and inviting. The taste of dated nicotine clung still clung to his breath as he remembered just how she had felt in his arms. If he had only known how brief the moments would be he wouldn't have taken them for granted. She wasn't supposed to actually leave, though he was foolish to think that she would have stayed. By her own admittance, she had lived several different places, and wouldn't hesitate to live somewhere else.

To think that he would be able to change that had been foolish indeed. She was different, she was stronger than most of the other girls were, with an exterior as cold as stone. Her attitude towards him had been as cold as the night she arrived. Nothing he ever could have done would have been able to change that, no one would ever be able to change her. He wished that he could have, but would he have loved her if he had been able to?

As he trudged back to the lodging house that cool night, he couldn't help but change his route. It had seemed that there wasn't anything worth living for anymore. Too many good byes and farewells had been said for Spot's time, and this was the last one he could stand. So he was prepared to take the final plunge and say his last ultimate goodbye. This fateful twist pulled him towards the one place he knew would be able to stop him from ever feeling again. The bridge.

If only he had gone back….

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//It isn't right,

It never has been,

But tonight,

We can't ignore…//

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Normally, nothing could wake him from the deep comatose he would enter every night, but this night was proving to be anything but usual. As his deep set gray eyes cracked open, he was very aware that something was amiss. Through the steady heavy breathing around him, he listened in the darkness for other sounds, but didn't hear anything unusual. Still, he knew that something was wrong, he just knew.

Pushing his covers back, his feet hit the chilled floor, sending a shiver up his lanky length. The night air was chilled as the stove had burned out long ago, leaving nothing but a void where the heat had once been. Silently he padded down the rows of bunks, not really knowing what he was looking for. Sighing with frustration, he raked his fingers through his hair, unsure of what he was looking for and convinced that he was insane. Turning back towards hid bunk, he caught something unusual. An empty bunk that was normally occupied was what he saw.

Spot's bunk.

Where was Spot?

Just to be sure, Outsider moved over to the place where his co-leader normally took his nighttime residence. Sure enough, it wasn't an illusion of the dark, there was no one in the bed. A crinkling noise under his foot drew his attention to the floor as he stepped on something. It felt like paper, and as he peered down into the shadows, he bent over to find a note, crumpled and discarded on the floor. Picking it up, he could see that it was a note, but couldn't make out any of the words. 

A candle stub, once lit, provided just enough dim, sputtering light for him to make out the words. Even though the note wasn't to him, the insatiable curiosity of a newsboy wouldn't be sufficed by simply reading the first few lines. So, against all better judgement, he began reading the letter that was written to their leader in strangely correct grammar.

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Dear Spot,

I left tonight and I'm not coming back. My train will be halfway to Chicago by the time you get this letter. You won't be seeing me again, which probably is a good thing to you, but I will think of you and Brooklyn ever day, dream of you every night. Your ribs should be healed in about a week or so, your hand in about three.

I wish I had the time to explain everything to you, but I don't. There is someone here that can. Do you remember that night where I was with a girl on the streets and you confronted me about her? It seems that was forever ago, but you have to find her. She is a barmaid from Queens that I befriended in my time there. Go to the bar named 'The Red' and ask for Cecile. Show her my cross necklace from the pouch that was with this letter, she will tell you everything she knows.

I am very sorry Spot, I just wish –

That was the entire letter he read, the want for sleep had gone from his eyes as he read the second paragraph. If Spot didn't remember that cold night rendezvous, he did, and he had wondered about it. That Frost girl had always made him wonder. She wasn't trustworthy, and now with this link back to Queens, he was absolutely sure of it. Now would be the time to make his move, so he found the pouch made of a fine white linen handkerchief and opened it. There were some other objects in there, a knife, a bandana, a pair of brass knuckles and a coin pendant on the end of a leather strap, the last thing he saw was a metallic glint in the candle light.

Picking up the golden cross with the delicate chain, he smiled slightly and hurried to his bed to fetch his clothes. After he had dressed and slipped the golden cross into his pocket, he returned to the pouch, retied it and replaced the letter and sack to their places as best as he could remember. Then, blowing out the candle he headed out the door towards Queens at a breakneck speed, curiosity burning at his heels.

If only he had stayed in bed….

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//Why can't you,

Just leave me alone,

I am not yours,

Not something you own…//

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The air was much warmer than it had been when he first arrived in December. It was still chilly and the reminder of winter was still around him, but he didn't tremble violently in the late night rounds as he scoured the city streets for something, anything. His single black eye scanned each alleyway and each shadow with equal never ending perception. He was looking for her. As her wandered the territory of Brooklyn, he saw many unusual things that became usual in his eyes.

The drunken men staggering every which ways, the screaming laughter of a bar wench, the hardened prostitutes the only ones daring to approach the one eyed man. An assortment of riff-raff and scoundrels making the own by playing the games of intimidation, the homeless beggars sleeping along the streets, on benches or wherever they could find a place to rest their heads. The reality of their life being that they might not wake in the morning, but they were all too tired, hungry, and desperate to care.

The wanderings of the tall young man brought him to a place he hadn't been for awhile. The bridge between Manhattan and Brooklyn, its hulking figure looming amongst a cloud of fog that hung as a deathly cloak over the city. Having no real convictions as to why he began crossing the bride, he did.

If only he hadn't….

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//And now we're grown up orphans,

That never knew their names,

We don't belong to no one,

That's a shame…//

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The knife that had been pressed against her back was withdrawn suddenly and Frost was about to take advantage of this when she felt Lice grab her arm and pull her back firmly against his chest, bringing the blade to her throat. The trio of ruffians watched this with a strangely amused expression on their faces, the apparent leader, and smallest of the three began to chuckle and was soon joined by his brothers. 

Charlie, Chester and Caleb.

Lice knew who they were, he had been in Brooklyn enough to have had a few run-ins with the troublesome trio. Time seemed to freeze and speed up at the same instant as they stood there, none of them moving. As though not moving would keep the moment from happening, if they could hold time in their own command. It was Charlie who first found his voice.

"Well, well," he smirked, strutting forward a bit, but not coming too close. "Look who we'se got heah boys," he pointed with his thumb, chuckling in a manner that rose the hairs on the back on Frost's neck. "It looks like we'se found ouah selves some friends," he started towards them and Lice took a step back, pressing the blade closer to Frost's throat.

"Stop," he ordered and Charlie gave him an ironic smile before laughing and taking another step forward.

"Whatcha goin' ta do lil' boy?" Charlie asked, spreading his arms in question.

"Is'll kill her," he threatened and Caleb and Chester exchanged a confused look behind their wittier brother.

"You'se goin' ta kill youah goilfriend just foah us?" Charlie mocked. "I don' think so," he shook his head as he continued to progress towards them as they continued to back up.

"She ain't my goil," Lice denied. "Did ya get a look at her mug?" He scoffed and Frost felt her heart sink even as it rose into her throat. It was true, he would have no qualms about killing her, the ugly girl. The comment however elicited nothing but more cruel mirthless laughter from the brothers and Frost could see the evil glint in Charlie's eyes. They wanted her.

"We'se got a little t'ing ta settle wit' youah goil dere," Charlie explained as they continued to mirror each other's movements.

"I'se got business wit' her too," Lice insisted and Frost could feel his tense muscles against her back, he was just as scared as she was, if only she could figure out a way to use that.

"Really?" Chester raised his eyebrows. "It seems dat we'se got a veahy busy goil on ouah hands," his face lost all of it's caustic humor instantly as though he dropped a mask. "But I'se t'inkin' dat we'se goin' ta deal wit' her foist," his tone said that he wasn't going to be bargaining. "Whot do yous t'ink boys?" he asked his brothers without turning to address them and they both responded with a mumbled yes, the idea of violence was in their veins numbing their already dull senses.

There was a pause in the dialogue as Lice seemed to be searching for an escape, Frost too afraid to make any sudden moves as the metallic edge of the blade pressed against her long throat. Funny how she would never get the chance to tell Spot what really happened, at least she had written a note. Though words written in a letter never expressed the true words she wanted to say. Every word she had ever said to him came flooding back as she had a sinking feeling that she was going to get the bad end of this confrontation. A noise came unexpectedly, interrupting the flow of her thoughts. As her brain began to process exactly what was happening, she saw Outsider plowing around the corner and knocking squarely into Caleb Pullvine. 

Never in her life did she ever think she would be so happy to see that meddling boy.

There was a sting of profanity from the large Pullvine brother and he turned to see the tall lanky boy. This brought a distraction from the torrid duo, and she felt the knife slip down from her neck and the hold Lice had on her was loosened. At that moment she knew that it was a matter of now or never and she lunged for the momentary chance she had. Swiftly, she delivered a back kick, hoping to hit Lice somewhere that would immobilize him momentarily at least.

A loud exhale, the clatter of the knife on the ground, and then there were the pounding footsteps blending with her own. She didn't know exactly whose they were, but she wasn't interested in know, she simply ran. Harder and faster than she had ever run before, she ran away from the group of boys and away Brooklyn. Her feet flew towards the connection to the Isle of Manhattan, the Brooklyn bridge. Hoping to get lost again in some unknown area just until she could steal enough money to get by.

If only she had run the other way….

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//Can you see the line,

Where the water ends?

Throws itself,

Off into oblivion…//

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The air seemed cooler than it had before as he took a long drag from his third cigarette, trying to delay the inevitable. He was the same place he had been when he had kissed her, the same place he had once almost jumped. Several hours had been spent here alone, in solitude with his own dark thoughts. Those same dark thoughts consumed him completely in this moment as he stood there, delaying his own destiny.

Then there was that feeling that rose the hackles on his neck, but it was too late because he felt someone knock him over the back of the head, stunning him. Maybe he would die differently than expected as he felt his hands being brought behind him swiftly as he tried to clear his pain fogged brain. Before he could react, his hands were both tightly bound behind his back and he was being forced to walk forward.

The blow had knocked his cap off and the cold wind blew through his dirty brown locks, the sun's highlights long gone from his shaggy hair. Suppressing a shiver, he looked behind him to catch only a glimpse over an eye-patch before tripping over his own tired feet, forcing him to look forward. So it was Luke that had him, and he mentally swore, but he had no desire to fight.

He was too tired and too depressed to care, but he wondered if her brother knew that Frost had skipped town. An ironic smile pulled at Spot's lips, because he knew that her brother probably had no idea about his own sister. At least she was safe, away from Luke and away from him.

If only he knew how wrong his thoughts were….

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//And isn't it ironic,

Don't you think?

A little too ironic,

Don't you think…?//

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So set forth a pattern that would prove to bring forth an interesting and climatic confrontation. The kind of confrontation that only could end in a way that would prove lethal to at least one of the parties included. The wheels of fate were turning on their axis as the world seemed to be a very vast place, but so very connected in the same. The echoing foreshadowing of the events to come were laid out but none could see the full picture.

If only the players on the stage of life had written their lines slightly different. If only they had chosen the less selfish or perhaps the selfish way instead. If only they could see what was coming before them. If only they could see the traps they had set for themselves. If only they had learned to forget. If only they hadn't fallen in love. If only they had forsaken their self-motivation. If only they had kept to themselves.

If only….

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A/N: There. I did it. I can't believe that I just sat here and wrote that, but it is late and I don't feel like proof reading it. So if it is absolutely terrible, I apologize. I also apologize for the atrocious update regime I have kept, or more so, haven't kept. I am the world's worst author. This story probably only has about two to three more chapters in all. So I will just try to get those out so I can finish **Blind Spot**. Dang it. I am going to finish these things if it absolutely kills me. Now to thank those who reviewed my last chapter, I LOVE YOU GUYS!

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Ice Renegade: Oh honey, I hope this chapter was worth the wait as well. I have to say that it basically one big set up chapter for the next one that will hopefully be up sooner than this update was. Now I am out of drama, finals are over, and school is coming to a close, I might be able to get some of this done in some sort of timely fashion. I completely apologize for the late update. As for your questions that you probably don't even remember by now I am going to answer them.

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Q:Where do you get those sayings at the beginning and middle of your chapters? **A**: They are song lyrics, bits of poems, or text that I have written. I don't write the songs mind you, just the poems. My final chapter will contain credits and clarifications for all such uses.

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Q: how do you get the Italics to show up on FF? **A**: I use Microsoft Word97, and it has an option to save as an HTML document. It keeps all of the Italics and bolds saved as such. Unfortunately, for some reason, it won't keep my text centered dang it. Oh well. 

Well thank you so much for the review and I am the world's worst reader and the world's worst writer/updater! Many apologies!

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Rae Kelly: Well you had to wait a long time for this chapter, but I hope it was worth the wait. ^_^ Thanks for reviewing.

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Ireland O'Reily: My dear faithful Ireland. Oh my dear I am such a bad girl, I haven't updated for over a month, nearly two. Don't hate me forever, life has just been hectic. I truly hope to finish both of these crazy fictions by the end of this summer and I have a sequel to **Blind Spot** in the idea cooker right now. So I really want to get these suckers done so I can start on that one! Not to mention an interesting take on a Davey fiction and a few other ideas tucked up my sleeves! Agh! We aren't even going to touch on the millions of one-shot ideas that are ricocheting off of my brain! As always, thank you for your reviews and your comments. I love you, I really do! Take care of yourself.

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FatBottomGirl: Thank you so much for your reviews! Agh I can't even express how much I appreciate all of you guys. My chapters are long? Ha, ha, well this one isn't that long, but I hope it is all right. It takes a lot of "writing endurance" to make longer chapters. Once you get more practice it is easier. Trust me, I used to think those four pages, double-spaced paragraphs, with size 10 Tahoma font was a massive chapter. Ha, ha, oh the good old days, eh? Reviews are fun things to see in the mailbox, aren't they? Ah, I love them. They are food for my muses. Well, my cast is finally off and my thumb rehab has gone well, so I am back and badder than ever! Watch out Newsie Fanfiction world! Raven's Wing is BACK!

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Random: Hmm… well… Spot!Muse in my bedroom, that could be an interesting moment. He probably wouldn't get out in the same condition in which he left. :: cough – cough :: Anyway, wow, I got a reference. I am not sure if I should be honored or what. While this is quite a Spot romance, I like to think that it has a lot of other elements tied into it. It isn't a sappy love story that is for sure, it is angst all the way. I am not much for fluff writing. I've been thinking about reading **Road Trip**, but I just haven't had time to even read my regular fics. So right now I am going to catch up on those and then maybe I will stop by, how about that? Thanks for the review, take care. ^_^

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bulldogchik05: Ha, ha, thank you for the compliment. I like to add as much detail as I can without being boring. It is my personal belief that there is too much assumption in writing fanfictions. A lot of authors just assume that the readers are going to understand what they want them to, and that isn't true. Oh well, I am just a nit-pick like that. Maybe I will stop by and check out some of your writings if you have some and review some of your work. Take care, peace. ^_^

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Kaylee: Its okay you didn't review right away, I mean look at me, the update stalling queen. I am an absolute loser when it comes to updates dang it. I hope that you will still like this story. Sorry about your comp breaking down. That is no fun at all. Take care. ^_^

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The Illusion Mage: AGH! I GOT A REVIEW FROM MY FAVORITE NEWSIES FANFIC WRITER EVER!!!!!!!!!!!! Okay, now enough of sounding like a teenybopper, I just can't describe the feeling I got when I saw that you had reviewed me. It was like I was tingly all over, like the feeling you get when you're a kid at Christmas. It was wonderful! Agh! Now enough scaring you with my psychobabble. You think that I am good writer? I can't even tell you how much your stories have inspired me. I can't even articulate…. I just absolutely love them. Seriously, I can read them again and again and still pick up on something I had missed the first time. I really hope you come back and write some more Newsie stuff because I will be your number one fan. Wow. Check it out, as of now, you are the ONLY author on my favorite author list. I am a very picky person, so you should be honored. Ha, ha. Thank you so much for reviewing. Take care. ^_^

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Tiger: You think this is a great story? Well thank you! Take care. ^_^


	17. Gravedigger

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: This is the third time I have written this thanks to the loss of the document on completion both of the other times, so I am sorry if it is rough. I don't know, I am just eager to get it up and I'm not proof reading it. So sorry for the delay, it would have been up in June – but that just didn't happen. So as you read this just remember: It is all for the plot.

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Warning: This chapter is rated R for language, violence, angst, and death.

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Chapter 16: Gravedigger

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Brief Recap: Spot Conlon, recently escaped from The Refuge, is confronted by an unusual spirited girl who calls herself Frost. Though constantly contemplating suicide on his insomnic walks, Spot finds a challenge in this girl and slowly begins to fall for her. After several fights, and a cutthroat bargain, Frost reveals her past ties all over the New York area. Things are still tense in the relationship between Spot and Frost when a strange man with an eye-patch arrives in search of Frost. Spot confronts Frost about this, and they finally kiss. Later Frost tells that it is her brother, Luke, and that he would stop at nothing to get his hands on her cross necklace, which happens to be 'the key.' Meanwhile, Luke enlists the help of a Queen's newsie, named Lice. Feeling trapped and threatened by her growing feelings for Brooklyn's leader and her brother's heightening pursuit, Frost sets off to the train station with the intention of going to Chicago. Spot, distraught at finding her gone, goes to the Brooklyn Bridge with the intent to kill himself. As Outsider goes on a fact finding mission, a chain of events were set off leading to conflicts that we are yet to see….

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//Gravedigger,

When you dig my grave,

Can you make it shallow,

So that I can feel the rain,

Gravedigger…//

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An overhang of fog cast its gloomy hold over the bridge so thickly that you couldn't see ten feet ahead of you, making the passageway between Manhattan and Brooklyn almost mystical. The water vapors creating a mist that seemed impenetrable in the early morning hours that were now creeping upon the city. It was cold, the chill seeping into the marrow of the young small boy who looked very much the part of the lost child at that moment.

His shaggy unkempt brown locks falling down into the cobalt orbs as he kept his head focused on the scuffed brown boots on his feet. Both hands were held behind his back in tight restriction, though they needn't have been. The boy didn't plan on running. Why run when you don't have a reason to? It was a sobering reality and he simply moved along, not bothering to notice where they were as they moved off of the bridge.

Where was Luke taking him?

Then there was a pounding of feet on the cobblestones that weren't their own, at first it was distant, but it grew closer rapidly. This caused Spot to raise his bobbing head and stare into the thick vapors. Luke had heard it too and froze; it was impossible to see five feet in front of you with any clarity, so it was as though they were blind in far-sight.

His stormy blue eyes penetrated as far as they could as the footsteps moved towards them with a startling rapidity. A petite silhouette began to form and then took the appearance of someone spot knew it couldn't be. Her long braid of chestnut hair swinging behind her as her black eyes darted around rapidly before freezing on the obstruction ahead of her. She was on a dead collision course with the frozen duo.

But no – it couldn't be – Frost was gone.

Blinking rapidly, he shook his head, thinking that surely it was just a trick his weary mind was playing on him. It was soon proven reality as the sprinting girl smashed into the dumbfounded Brooklynite. For an instant, time froze as Spot worked his jaw, almost unwilling to speak and shatter the magical moment.

"Frost," he breathed, barely loud enough for himself to hear as she stared up in his eyes. When she didn't say anything, he was afraid that she wasn't really there, that his mind full of weariness and woes had tricked him yet again. It felt like she was pressed up against him there, and he wished that his hands were free to trace the features of her face. He wished that -

"Spot look out!" She yelled suddenly and he was confused. Then a sharp pain shot from the crown of his head down to his toes and back up again, radiating through his entirety. Darkness seeped into the corners of his eyes as he stared into hers before rolling in the back of his head.

Then it was black.

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//From the cradle to the grave,  
It cannot rain all the time,  
It cannot always be the day,  
But it can always be the night…//

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Sometimes things happen that can't be explained just by chance, but only by divine encounter. Such was the event unfolding as Frost and Lice stood before the ruthless trio of brothers. The pounding of footsteps could be heard in the ever-thickening fog, and the heavy breathing of her pursuer seemed to tickle the back of her neck. A single chestnut braid whipped out behind her, her cap long forgotten on the bloodshot streets, as she didn't bother to pace herself.

The thick mist was disorienting as she darted along the border between Brooklyn and Queens. She didn't know this territory extremely well, but she knew it well enough to stay ahead. If she could only make it across the Brooklyn Bridge, she would be able to hide from Lice no question. He didn't know Manhattan at all – but crossing the bridge would be a large risk. If she got too tired to continue, there was no place to even consider hiding on the long expanse, but she didn't have a choice. Lice knew Brooklyn as well as she did and knew Queens even better, making it to the bridge was the only hope she would have to get away from him.

The pounding feet behind her matched those of her own as she forced herself to accelerate against all of the protesting of her body. The fog gave way to the foot of the bridge and she pressed herself harder, knowing that if she didn't there was no hope she would make it across the bride without him catching here. There was nowhere to hide in the impossibly thick cloud covering around her; all she could do was run – hoping that she could out last and out wit her pursuer.

Fate and destiny were in a humorous mood apparently, using whomever the pleased in their sick game of amusement. Tonight's players were that of several different paths and motives all converging in a singular place in a climatic confrontation. The fog in front of Frost dissipated as she tore her way through the cloud, but it wasn't enough to warn her against the coming obstacle.

A silhouette of two figures appeared in front of her as if they had simply materialized from nothing, and her feet failed to slow their rapid pace as she felt the startling recognition of the characters. A painful jolt was delivered as she sent her small body hurtling into the temporarily stunned barrier. Draw back she looked up into the eyes that she had come to love and hate.

"Frost," he murmured and the familiar chill shot down her spine at the disarmed shock in his voice and face. Her body remained pressed against his as she watched his blue diamonds roam over her features, taking in the different planes and angles that she presented. The second party all but forgotten until a sudden movement drew Frost's coal orbs to witness her brother raising a mighty fist above Spot's head.

"Spot look out!" she yelled as her brother brought down his doubled fists across the crown of Spot's matted dark hair. A moment of confusion passed over the smaller boy's face then before the realization of pain could set in. As the later did, his crystalline eyes rolled back into his cranium as his body sagged to the ground of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Chest still heaving from her exhausting run, Frost sunk down next to the fallen Brooklyn leader with a small cry, ignoring the confused look from her brother and the approach of the Queen's newsie. The oblivious girl gathered the limp boy in her arms as she stroked back a dark lock from his forehead, tenderness besetting her gaze and touches that could be detected from a mile away. 

The scene played before a very confused Luke and Lice as they looked at each other before looking back down at the sweet exchange between the girl and unconscious boy. What this girl was doing was unthinkable! It forwent any basal instinct or street survival that she had learned at any time as she not only placed herself in a dangerous situation, but also showed a weakness. Lice seemed to realize this before Luke because a twisted smile came to his thin lips as he chuckled menacingly.

"Looks like we'se got us an' intrahstin' situahshun," he smirked and Frost's dark eyes shot up toward Lice's unusual two-toned orbs.

At the sound of Lice's voice, Luke instantly sprung into action, grabbing Frost by the braid and yanking her upward. The shock and pain flittered across her face before the customary look of 

Defiance took hold and her brother's patched visage glared down upon hers. With his free hand, Luke searched around her neck; Frost knew for what he was searching and knew that he wouldn't find it.

"Where's the cross, you bitch?" he growled as Luke hoisted Spot up over her shoulder like a bag of potatoes. Though Spot had grown and now towered over Frost's five foot frame, he couldn't have been more than five foot six and rather emaciated in appearance as the lean winter months had done nothing but spread his skin like paper over his bones. Strong and wiry he could put up a good fight, but he was obviously not too large of a burden as Lice carried him easily.

"Not heah Luke," Lice said, shifting the unconscious Spot on his shoulder. "I'se got a place we'se can go," he started walking before Luke could protest as he moved swiftly through the swirling dark to a place that was bitterly familiar to Frost. Unable to struggle against her brother's vicious grip upon her hair and arm, she watched in horror as they came to a storage warehouse that was all too familiar. Lice's eyes met hers in a victorious smirk as he realized that power of fear he still held over her. Pressing open the door, the blackness welcomed them in a sinister misery that seemed to seep inside of Frost.

Luke pressed her forward into the blackness behind the Lice and she heard the sickening thud of the limp boy being dropped to the hard ground. Her mind cringed at the sound, but she was kept from moving by her brother as her brother maintained his steely grip. The door was shut behind them with a resounding bang and the sound of a striking match could be heard along with the glass clink of a lamp chimney. The faint illumination cast from behind them was enough to show Spot sprawled in an unnatural position across the hard, cold, dirty floor.

"Will yous get tha boy?" Lice asked Luke as he came around with the lamp. "Is'll get tha goil and hold tha lamp," he bargained as he brandished a knife and Frost watched as Luke and Lice switched their holds and Lice wrapped his arm around her throat, pressing the metal against it. "Remembah Spectah?" he whispered into her ear, his hot breath filling it as she felt the spinal creeps strike her strongly. "I took ya once, I could take ya again," he spoke as Luke shouldered the unconscious Spot, referring the to the time he had raped her in this very building. "Yous don' wanna admit it, but yous scahahd, you knows yous made a mistake when yous ran from Queens," he didn't have time to continue as Luke turned to him impatiently and asked where they were going. "Follow me," Lice lead them back through the piles of crates and old machines that were obviously being stored here for later use by various owners. 

The second story windows ran all around the high ceiling, some broken letting the thick fog seep inside, others boarded over or covered with ripped oiled cloth. They did little to illuminate the building in the darkness of the early New York morning. The deepest foreboding settled in the pit of Frost's stomach as the sickness from Lice's off colored comments faded with the finality of the fate that was seeming to present itself. 

They were taken back to a corner that looked like it had been used for an office of some sort as its door looming in the shadows with an ominous presence. Going ahead, Luke opened it as Lice's hands were occupied beyond opening it himself as they went inside. Quickly, Frost's eyes scanned the area; it was a room around twenty by thirty feet with large boxes and random pieces of furniture and machines. A desk with a candle resting in a pewter holder is what caught her eye, but she didn't draw attention to it as Lice pushed her down on the ground and Luke dropped Spot on the ground beside her.

"Where is that cross, Lois?" Luke's low voice pierced the thick silence as she stood and slunk away from the looming presence before her.

"I don' have it," she insisted as her brother's arm shot out and grabbed her, drawing her back. "Gawd Luke, I don' have it!" She tried to pull back as she saw his fist raising to hit her when a different voice came in.

"She ain't goin' ta tell you if ya it her," Lice mocked and both brother and sister looked in his direction as he brought his knife towards the fallen Brooklynite. "But if ya hoyt her lil' fancy…" he drifted off, leaving the possibilities to the imagination as the coal black eyes widened at the evil glint of his metallic instrument.

"I don't have it!" She spoke quickly and frantically, her New York accent falling away like all of the other masks that she had placed in front of herself. "I swear it Luke, I don't have it with me!" She pulled against his hold, his eyes playing back and forth between Spot, Lice, and her brother. "You have to believe me! I don't have it!" her breathing became rapid and hurried as she felt the tears rise up to her eyes as the blade hovered so close to Spot's flesh. "I sold it back in Boston for a ticket to New York and a few good meals," she added the extra lie and the tension hung so thickly in the air that it was nearly tangible as her pleas fell upon their ears with a sickening realism.

"Leave them," Luke released his sister's arm and she stumbled backwards.

"But Luke –" Lice started by was cut off by Luke raising his hand.

"She isn't going to tell us anything now, we'll try again later," he held a tone in his voice that told Lice that arguing was not only futile, it could be dangerous. So he stood and went to the door, taking his lamp and his knife with him as Frost watched from her vantagepoint in the shadows. With one final look back, Luke glared at her with a sickening power and then shut the door.

Then it was black.

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//What are you keeping,

Keeper of the cemetery?  
And the gravedigger,

Who will be buried by…?//  
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The twins, fate and destiny, ran amuck that night as the spry co-leader of Brooklyn looked fearfully up at the large brothers. Their faces set for blood and their minds locked into violence, they stared down at the lithe creature that had collided into their masses. The smallest of the three, but still towering over Outsider stepped forward slightly, eyeing him up and down as the boy stepped back slightly, unsure of what to do. Looking behind him, Chester say that the duo had disappeared into the thick fog and turned back to the cowering lad in front of them before uttering a single phase.

"Get 'em," he instructed his brothers who had already set their minds to wreaking pain and misery and set about the task as quickly as they could.

That was the instant that Outsider decided to run, fast. The pounding of footsteps reverberated along the brick edifices as the fog pressed around them with a tangible entity. His heart matched and doubled the pace of his feet as he pressed his hand in a tight fist around the golden cross he bore. Glancing behind him, he was pleased to see that he had put enough distance between himself and the Pullvines that they were no longer visible, but definitely audible as they swore loudly, following his own noises.

A realization struck Outsider, if they were simply following his sounds, if he made no sound, they would not be able to find him. Though this was a risk, he was willing to take it, so swerving to the side he ran along until he found an alley in which he could duck. Darting behind a crate, he ducked down and tried his best to regulate his heavy breathing and pounding heart. All he wanted to do was get that bar, _The Red_, and talk to this Cecile about Frost. His heart raced as he heard their passing footsteps grow nearer and then pass him as their swearing and profanity lingered in his ears.

Leaning his head back against the crate, he exhaled heavily and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he was very tired as his heart rated decelerated and the exhaustion of his late night outing took its toll. Before he even had the chance to fight it, Outsider felt his legs stretch out and his body go lax as he entered the world of dreams.

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//I went to the graveyard,

Fell down on my knees,

I went to the graveyard,

Fell down on my knees…//

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The darkness crowded around her as if the walls were closing in against her, the claustrophobic experience wasn't pleasing as Frost hurried over to where she had thought she had seen a candle. Tripping over many things in the process of arrive at her destination, she sighed happily as she felt the waxy cylindrical column in her grip. Digging into her threadbare pocket she found the last match in her possession and struck it carefully against the rough wood of the desk and brought it to the wick. The flame took hold of the wick and began to burn, casting a dim glow around the room, the eerie shadows playing tricks upon the mind and the figures around her.

First she searched the desk, hoping to find a fresh candle in case the one she now employed extinguished before she was through with the light. Much to her delight, destiny and fate smiled upon her as a single fresh candle waited in the bottom drawer along with old scraps of paper and several dust bunnies. Pocketing the long wax pillar, she moved to the wall where she began the perimeter inspection. No doors or windows could be found and she fretted as she looked for a possible escape. Running her free hand over the mortar between the bricks, she looked for loose pebbles or perhaps a way to lose one brick which could become another and then lead to a crawl space large enough through which they could escape. However, by the seventh time she had circled the room, she finally gave up and started looking for other ways of escape. There were none, besides the door that was undoubtedly locked and guarded by her brother or that wretched Lice. Simply at the thought of the boy newsie, she shuddered. 

Vile memories of the night she had spent with him in this building washed against her like the surf against the shore, pounding against her sanity and control, wearing it away as she tried to distract herself by going and checking on Spot. He was still lying in a heap on the floor, his body slightly twisted and curled in strange ways, the dark locks of hair laying haphazardly over his handsome face and a familiar ache welled up inside of her. He was so beautiful, and from the stories she had heard the other girls tell she wasn't the only one that had noticed this. Some of the girls that she had heard talking were some of the most beautiful girls she had seen at their status level, the ones that were pretty enough to marry a richer man simply because of the fantastic bloom of their hips and their tiny waists. Those girls didn't have overly large eyes, crooked noses, or boyish figures; they were almost like goddesses walking the plains of the earth. With this knowledge she looked at Spot, brushing at the stray locks of hair, touching him in a way that she knew she would only be able to touch him in his sleep.

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Too bad youah ugly, she thought bitterly before an even more sobering thought struck her. _Too bad you got you an' Spot killed_, Bile rose in her throat at the solemn thought of mortality. 

As if touching him had burned her, she snapped back her hand and looked down at the sleeping boy once more, the painful ache reentering her breast with now the bitter twist of death and guilt. She was a murderer. It was her fault that this ethereal being would now be removed from this earth before his time. The melancholy was quickly overtaken with a painful sorrow that brought hot tears to her eyes as she recoiled from the boy on the floor, unwilling to look upon him for another instant. Why did she have to care so much? She had always been able to pick up and leave at the drop of a hat without regret or lasting ties, no one had gotten to her the way that this creature had and she hated him for it. That is, she would hate him if she didn't already love him. The conflict of emotions was too much for her too handle with the lack of sleep and physical exhaustion doubled over as she stood and moved over to a wall where she reclined and let the tears fall.

The crooked position caused the candle to fall from her pocket and roll out beside as the current burning wick sputtered and flicked towards to the night as the silent sobs wracked her body.

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//No, Mr. Gravedigger,

You won't tell,  
And just to make sure,

That you keep it to yourself…//  
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As it so happens, dreams and reality blur together for a moment before consciousness settles in and takes total hold over a mortal mind. The fog from the outside had seemed to seep inside his mind as his eyelids cracked open, a haze gripping his train of thought as he tried to find reality. With a silent groan, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, trying to sort through the patterns of logic that would allow him to be in such a foreign place.

The only light came from a dim candle that was beginning to sputter as it neared the end of its life, but in the flickering flame, he could see a silhouette of another. Furrowing his brow, he squinted past the darkness, his hand going to the floor, touching a waxy cylindrical object. Another candle? It was, and with it in hand, he crawled over to the rapidly extinguishing one. Lighting it off of what was left of the former flame, Spot held up the newly lit candle to his cellmate.

The candle reflected off of the mass of tangled chestnut hair and shone upon the tattered old jacket. Tiny shoulders heaved with emotion, as he heard her take a shuddering breath and his own caught in his throat. What was Frost doing here, wasn't she supposed to be going to Chicago? It was at that moment that the memories of what had happened came flooding back to him in full force. Even though he was still in the dark about the details, all he knew was that she was here now.

Reaching out his splinted hand, he touched her gently on the shoulder and she jerked away violently before drawing up her head to see who had dared to touch her. A very loud, unladylike sniffle came from the curled girl as she quickly wiped under her eyes, trying to save what little dignity she had left.

"Frost…" he drifted off, reaching out a single hand to tuck a piece of hair between her ear, letting his hand linger, cupping her cheek. The midnight eyes closed for a moment and she seemed to be fighting herself, but Spot imagined she leaned into his touch even if it was only a fraction, before she pulled away. "Whot ah yous doin' heah?" he inquired, eyes stormy with worry.

"Tha same t'ing youah doin'," she quipped, angry with herself for letting his touch effect her the way it did. Didn't she know that it meant nothing to him?

"Wheah ah we'se?" he questioned, letting out a painful hiss as an unexpected bit of hot wax singed his skin.

"Heah," she reached forward and blew out what was left of the sputtering candle stub. Prying it out of the pewter holder, she offered it to him before continuing. "Weah in an old weahhouse in Queens," she explained. "An' wes'll stay heah, until – wes'll stay heah," she frowned, looking away from him.

"Youah bruddah?" he didn't have to elaborate and she took a deep shuddering breath as she stared at her hands.

"He's outside tha doah, sleepin' pro'lly," she shrugged. "It's tha only way out," she told Spot as she turned back to look at him. His eyes were watching her intently, like two of the purest blue diamonds as the candle light shone upon them. Their watery depths pulling her in deeper, startling her at the power they held. Staring into his eyes was like trying to see past the light, you could do it only for a moment before your were simply blinded by the intensity. "Spot…" she breathed unable to say anything else as she fought for the control he had robbed from her so simply. It was aggravating.

"Yeah Frost?" he prompted and she swallowed hard. In those eyes the purest cerulean there was a trace of something she hadn't really seen before, what was it? Could it be hope – longing – expectancy? Her mouth was suddenly very dry and she cleared her throat, trying to force the words out.

"I'se soahy," she finally choked. "Foah gettin' yous inta this mess wit' me. It wosn't supposed ta happen like dis," she forced out the words before she felt her pride rising again.

"How was it supposed ta happen?" he asked, he was getting at something, but she wasn't sure what.

"Gawd, yous expect me ta know?" she felt her defensive anger rising, she had let her masks down too long and now she was scared.

"Well ya seemed ta!" he hissed back, retaliating against her outburst. "Dat's why yous left foah Chicago," he added and she froze. So he had read her letter, but had he read it all? Did he know what she felt, had he read far enough?

"Well I ain't dere now," she tore her eyes away from his, not wanting him to see the truth. "I mighta gotten away if yous hadn't gotten in tha way," she accused under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

"An' I wouldn'ta been out deah if yous hadn't run off!" he retorted.

"Yous followed me?" her voice full of disbelief as she looked back at him, eyes wide.

"Yeah," he swallowed, more showed in the short confession than he wanted, and he squirmed uncomfortably. 

"Why?" she whispered, almost inperceivably leaning closer to him, waiting for his answer.

"Cause," he dropped his voice to a softer tone, matching hers and he leaned in as well, there faces only a few inches apart. "I wonted ta," he edged closer, carefully, slowly.

"Why?" her eyes fell to his lips then darted back to his eyes as she tried to reign in control of the emotions that he was sending reeling.

""I nevah got ta heah tha rest o' ya stoahy," he answered just as their lips were about to touch, she turned her face.

"So yous just wonted youah infoahmation?" she spoke dully, and he bristled at the rejection.

"Yeah," he sniffed. "Whot else would I'se wont wit'cha?" he growled and she stood.

"I dunno, yous tell me?" she put her arms akimbo and he set down the candle and stood along with her.

"Well yous could tell me whot tha hell is goin' on right now," he suggested. "Oah why da hell youah bruddah wonts ya damn necklace," he proposed. "Oah why in da hell youah such a bitch," he spat out the last words as though they pained him.

"Fine," she shot back angrily, then sighed, leaning back against the wall as if all of the fight had gone out of her. "Ya know my necklace, it's a key," she explained, her shoulders slumping. "Its tha only way ta open tha box ta my faddah's will," she continued. "An' dat is whot Luke wonts," she bowed her head.

"So why can't he jus' take tha key and leave ya alone?" Spot moved next to her, leaning on the bricks.

"I'se tha heir, tha only way dat Luke's goin' ta get tha money is if I ain't theah ta stop 'im," she ground the toe of her shoe into the ground.

"Why haven't ya gone back ta get tha money?" Spot scratched his head.

"Goin' back ta Virginia would be like tellin' him ta kill me," she scoffed and Spot noticed that she mentioned her home state. Something she hadn't done before. "Dat bastahd killed 'is own muddah in 'er bed, whot makes ya t'ink he wont do tha same ta me?" she looked at him with a mirthless laugh and then leaned her head back against the wall. "It wosn't supposed ta happen like dis," she said with a heavy sigh.

"Why doesn't Luke just bust open tha box?" Spot proposed.

"It's in tha bank," she explained. "Tha bank's got one key, an' I'se got tha oder. Ya can't open tha box wit'out both of them," she put a hand at her throat, where the golden cross used to hang. "If Luke's anyt'ing he's smaht. He ain't goin' ta rob a bank ta get the evidence they'd need ta shoot 'im," she pointed out.

"Then why am I heah?" Spot frowned, not following the logic of it all.

"If I'se don' talk, they'll use you ta make me," she pressed her eyes shut once again, the anger of only a few moments before completely forgotten. "Gawd, I'se so soahy 'bout gettin' ya inta this," she pushed off of the wall and paced restlessly, the candle casting eerie shadows over her small body.

"Ah ya shuah dat theah ain't no way outta heah?" Spot stayed reclined on the wall, watching her with his ever-shifting eyes.

"Pretty damn," she swore, pressing her palms against the cool bricks before doing a pushup so her head rested against the surface as well. "We'se goin' ta die tanight," she sounded defeated and Spot went and stood behind her. That realization was startling, and seeing her so hopeless was even more so. Though, perhaps that was why she was confiding all of this information in him, it didn't matter if neither of them were around to tell.

"We ain't beat yet," he whispered and her head came off the wall, looking at his shadowed face.

"We'se weah beat befoah we'se evah got heah," she lamented and Spot ran his fingers through his dirty hair.

"Frost," he started and then there was a pause as she waited for him to continue. "Why'd ya run?" his voice held a husky quality that struck hard with the girl and she bit her bottom lip. So he hadn't read all of her letter and she frantically searched her mind to remember exactly how she had worded it in her script.

"It's none a ya damn business!" She spat out in an almost automatic reaction before she quickly bit her tongue. The last thing she needed to do right now was lash out against this boy who was going to be killed on her account. The truth was the least she could give. "I needed out," she choice her words carefully. "It weren't safe foah me ta stay heah no moah, but I stayed too long," she felt herself being hypnotized by his eyes. "I shoulda left weeks ago," she couldn't see the expression his face held, she could barely make out his features, but she saw an alteration. To what direction it was, she wasn't sure.

"Why didn't ya then?" he watched as she turned to face him completely. "I'se seen you pickpocket, yous had 'nough money ta go ta California wit' all the cash you had," his tone was serious and she felt her heart come up to her throat.

"I guess – I didn' wanna leave - - New Yawk," she cursed herself to backing away from a golden opportunity, but she knew that it would be better if she didn't tell him.

"What's heah in New Yawk but a dime a day and heahtbreak?" his voice was so cynical that she ached for him. "Nuttin' but memories heah," he pointed out and she knew he didn't buy her excuse. "You don't strike me as much of a sentimental type," she heard his feet shuffle as he came a few inches closer, the darkness crowding around them.

"You don' know me at all, I'se left places afore, just thought I might stay in New Yawk till da weaddah gets bettah. I'se hoyd its even woyse in Chicaga," he regarded her in the faint glow of the candle and she stumbled over her words.

"Ya didn't even take time ta say goodbye," he tried to hide the feeling behind his statement, but the pain shone through. "I'se sure dat some o' tha boys would be heaht broken," he covered his own emotional misstep with the feelings of others.

"But yous be glad," she took a sharp breath as he moved closer still. "Yous t'ink I ain't nuttin' moah dan a bitch, a pain in tha ass," she quoted two of the profanity laced titles he had dubbed her.

"Yeah," he nodded, not really listening to her as he made it so that their bodies were less than a few inches apart, Frost's back pinned against the wall.

"How's youah ribs?" She quickly changed the subject, nervousness creeping into her system. No matter how much she wanted to give into him, she knew that she shouldn't. "An' youah hand," she reached out and took the poorly splinted hand in her own. "It should be healed by now," she ducked her head to inspect it in the dim light. "Gawd, whose been wrappin' dis foah yous?" she frowned at the poor handy work.

"Me," he bristled at the unintended insult.

"You shoulda had someone help yous," she reprimanded as she drew him closer to the light, where she began unwrapping it.

"Ya don't need ta do dat," Spot insisted and she shook her head.

"It need ta be done cause yous obviously ain't got no idea on how ta do t'ings like dis right," she removed the final dirty bandage and observed the hand in question. "Now I'se goin' ta try a couple t'ings an' yous tell me if dey hoyt," she instructed and began pressing on various points upon his palm and the back of his hand. When she got no reaction from him, she let go of his hand and recoiled her hand quickly to her abdomen. "Now try an' bend it," she ordered and he complied.

Slowly he bent his hand, gritting his teeth against the unexpected pain that shot up his appendage and down his torso. Through this agony though, his managed to slowly curl his fingers completely before extending them once again. Though he hadn't made any vocal or expressional mark of his pain, Frost knew that it had hurt him.

"It'll hoyt foah a whilse, dat's whot happens when ya don' use it foah awhile," she informed and he looked at her sourly.

"I'se jus' t'ink yous like ta hoyt me," he grumbled and a small smile tugged at her thin lips as she realized that he didn't really mean it. "So me hand is fixed?" he reverted back to safer ground and she nodded in the dim candlelight. "Whot 'bout my ribs?" he tried bending his hand again and felt that it didn't put him through such agony as it did the first time.

"I t'ink dey's fine," she started to stand and he moved with her, still bending and stretching his hand.

"Dey's been kinda hoytin'," he insisted reaching out with his good hand and grasping on of hers, bringing it against his side. "Right heah," he told her with a husky quality in his voice as she moved as far back as she could from him as he firmly held her hand in place.

"If youah hands fine, youah ribs ah fine," she generalized, feeling very uncomfortable at his obvious perusal, but why would he pursue her? It didn't make sense….

"How do ya know dat?" his tone was more curious than attempting to woo her.

"My faddah was a noyse," she jerked her hand away finally and he looked slightly irritated.

"He wos book learned?" Spot quirked a curious eyebrow and she nodded, looking distracted and he took that opening to grasp her shoulders and pressed her back against the wall. Instinctively she moved to fight him, but when her glassy eyes caught his in the dim light, she froze. 

"I'm goin' ta kiss ya," he stated.

"Like hell ya ah," she protested weakly but already knew that she wouldn't be able to fight him off. Her body reacted to his presence and though she tried to back away, she felt herself being drawn to him. Keeping their eyes locked until his forehead rested against her own, she could feel his hot breath mingling with her own. "Spot – don't," she could almost taste him like the forbidden fruit and she could feel her own resolve melting away quickly as a hot flash of lust coursed through her.

"Why not?" he actually brushed his lips against hers as they spoke and she felt a tremor go down her spine as her knees went weak at the butterfly kiss. It had barely been enough to feel, but it felt like a bolt of lightning had struck her. Why did she have to want him so much? Before she could being forth a response she felt him shift his face to an angle and press his mouth gently over hers.

The contact absolutely shocked her as she inhaled sharply through her nose, unsure if she should respond or not as her coal black eyes stayed open wide as she fought against herself and all of the selfish pride that she had worked so hard to keep. Reason after logical reason absolutely fell away under the rushing tide of passion and lust that passed through her upon the feel of his body pressed so close to hers. It simply felt amazing. The frozen stance that she was trying so valiantly to control and maintain was increasingly difficult with ever sensation and thrill that coursed through her – but she didn't want to give into him. She didn't want to just be another one of Spot's girls. 

Through all of her reasoning though and good intentions, she felt her eyes flutter closed and her arms move around his lean torso as she responded to his kiss. Against all reason, all personal promises or standards, she allowed him to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue in past her lips as she pressed herself flush against him. The want and desire that had burned within them flamed to an extreme as they released their hurt and frustration upon each other, the kiss going from gentle to brutal and passionate all in an instant as they struggled to come nearer to each other. Wrapping a single leg around him, Frost gripped his face between her hands, meeting his kiss with one of her own.

The passionate embrace was wreaking quick and deadly havoc upon Spot's control and senses and he knew that if he didn't stop soon, he might very well take her right there. The idea was all together too tempted to allow the kiss to go on any further and with a very hard deliberate jerk, he pulled away from her, losing her grips on his body and stumbling back a bit. Thoroughly drunk on the kiss, the both stood panting for a few moments before Spot spoke.

"We'se gettin' outta heah," he informed, walking over and taking the candle.

"Weahn't yous listenin' ta me?" Frost antagonized. "Ya can't get outta heah unless we'se bustin' out tha doah," She sneered and Spot looked at her curiously for a moment, the wheels in his head obviously turning. 

"Yous can pick locks, right?" he remembered her work on the hatch to the roof and seeing her deft moves on the girls bunk room that was still under construction.

"Yeah," she looked at him skeptically before the realization dawned upon her. "No, theah's no way we'se goin' ta pick that lock an' try an' get past them," she shook her head and Spot walked up to her hopefully.

"We'se can do dis Frost, you's pick tha lock, we'se sneak out an' we'se back ta Brooklyn, we'se free!" he spoke in a hushed excitement that was very uncharacteristic for the Brooklyn leader, but held an electric passion that spread into Frost. "We at least have a chance dis way," he pleaded. "Let's try."

There was a long moment that passed between them and Frost didn't know what to do. How could Spot switch gears so quickly when she was still recovering from their passionate embrace? Was this all just another trick to get her to do something for him as it seemed to have been before? Yet there was a spark in his eyes that wasn't simply the reflection of candlelight, no it was the obvious glimmer of hope and pleading as he longed for a second chance just as much as she did. 

"All right," she quietly complied reaching within her coat and pulling out a strange bent metal piece no thicker than a pencil and squiggly as a snake.

Moving to the door, he held the candle for her much as he had that fateful night she had confessed so much of her life spent in New York. Her work was done deftly and as quietly as possible, every time a supposed noise came from the outside she froze. Breathing stopped as well as they listened to the silence that enveloped them until she was quite sure that it was safe to continue. What could have only been a few moments dragged on for eternity and she felt beads of perspiration dot her cold forehead as the pressure mounted. Sticking her tongue out of the side of her mouth, she gave it one last try, moving the tool in a most curious fashion until she heard a satisfying click. 

Smiling broadly, she froze, waiting to see if she roused anyone on the other side. When there was no sound, she withdrew her tool and stood, nodding to Spot who reached out with one hand and opened it. Another light met them as the lamp that Lice had lit stood at the feet of a boy who was snoring quietly. His eye patch was in place as he reclined in a rather uncomfortable looking position on the wall. Spot looked at Frost warily and they silently stole in the direction of the door, Frost leading. Once outside, the snuffed the candle, dropped it and the holder, and began to run for Brooklyn.

****

. : ^_^ : ._  
//Mr. Gravedigger,  
Won't you help me,_

And hide me for a night?  
I'm running from the bounty man…//  
**. : ^_^ : .**

"It's about time you got here," Luke growled, as Lice appeared, he had just woken and was impatient. "It's going to be dawn before long," he muttered and Lice gave him a cold look.

"I hadda do sumt'ing," he replied, not elaborating. "Wheah'd ya move tha two?" he motioned to the door that was slightly ajar, but hardly noticeable.

"What? I didn't move them!" Luke insisted and Lice looked at him and then the door.

"Then why is tha damn doah _open_?" he accused.

"Shit, you mean they escaped!" Luke swore, on his feet immediately.

"Yeah, looks like it," he watched Luke head frantically for the door, but made no moves to follow him.

"Are you going to help me find them?" Luke implored and Lice shook his head.

"I'se done wit' dis," he held up his hands. "I ain't goin' inta tha Brooklyn an' takin' theah leadah," he scoffed at the sheer stupidity of the notion and Luke looked like he might strangle Lice as he stood there.

"Fine," Luke growled. "I don't need you," he turned then on his heel and stalked off, leaving Lice behind with a wicked smile on his face.

"I'se goin' ta do this me own way," Lice spoke to himself once Luke was gone. "I'se goin' ta find Spectah and then t'ings ah goin' ta change," he went to the door where Luke had previously exited and moved into the misty darkness with the motions of a seasoned professional.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//From the cradle to the grave,  
It cannot rain all the time,  
It cannot always be the day,  
But it can always be the night…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

Frost and Spot had stopped from the running just on the Brooklyn side of the border. Catching their breaths for a moment and Frost knew what she had to do. It wasn't safe for her to go back to the lodging house, but she knew Spot wouldn't leave her if she told him the truth and she quickly formulated a plan.

"Go back ta tha lodgin' house," She told him suddenly and continued before he could speak. "I left me stuff back at tha train station, I needs ta get it. Is'll meet ya back theah," she promised and saw the confusion enter his expression.

"Is'll go wit' ya, whot if ya buddah finds ya?" he disagreed.

"He won't," she quickly said and then continued. "Ya need ta get back ta tha burrah, dawn'll be heah soon an' tha group'll expect ya ta be theah," she pointed out and Spot looked torn. "Don' woahy 'bout me, Is'll be fine," she reached up and pulled his head down suddenly, smashing his lips to hers in what turned out to be a ten second block of heaven. Initially as a distraction to keep him from formulating any other thoughts, the kiss had a second meaning, it was her way of saying goodbye. During the kiss she imagined that it meant something to him, she imagined that it could possible be more than another forgettable rendezvous. When she pulled back she was even more short of breath then she had been when she had stopped running. "Go," she shoved him and then headed in the direction of the train station.

Already her heart was breaking, she hadn't wanted to lie to him but she had known that there was nothing else that could be done for it. It wasn't safe in New York anymore, it just wasn't. She had stolen enough money that she should be able to get out of New York and somewhere that she could develop a new identity that would get her where ever she wanted to go. Even if it wasn't to Chicago, she simply knew that New York was no longer an option, even if she would be leaving her heart behind. Turning blindly down an alley, the fog that had been so thick before slightly waning in the early morning hours still not thin enough to see the on coming danger.

"Hello lil' goil," she heard the sinister voice cut through the night and felt the hackles on the back of her neck raise. "Did ya miss me?" She stifled a scream at the sight of Lice emerging from the shadows.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//The gravedigger,

Look me in the eye,

The gravedigger,

Look me in the eye…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

An abrupt jolt is what woke the boy sleeping in the alleyway. His gray eyes flying open at the sudden intrusion upon his dreamland and he shivered as he entered the cold reality of New York once more. A tall boy with an eye-patch covering one eye glared down at him with his single piercing orb before it darted to the glittering in Outsider's palm.

"Let me see that!" The tall youth demanded of Outsider and he frowned, still dazed from sleep as he stood, fist closing over the prize.

"No," he denied, starting to walk away when he felt himself being pulled back roughly.

"I said let me see it," the boy punched him across the jaw and as the warm blood trickled from the corner of his busted lip, Outsider realized that he might have gotten more than he bargained for in taking this necklace.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//It's what you crave,  
Dig your own grave,  
Bury yourself alive,

Gravedigger…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

Where was she? He knew they had split up with the intention of heading back to the Brooklyn Lodging house, but something wasn't right. A nagging feeling was pulling him back to Queens as the eerie fog pressed around him, smothering his sight. He had already lost her once, and he didn't intend to do it again. That is why Spot turned around to search for Frost.

Meanwhile Frost was very much in need of help.

****

. : ^_^ : .

__

//Gravedigger,

When you dig my grave,

Could you make it shallow?

So I can feel the rain,

Gravedigger…//

****

. : ^_^ : .

"Wheah's youah lil' friend sweat heaht?" Lice taunted, his multi-colored eyes glittering with an evil mischief. 

"Leave him outta dis, dis is 'tween yous an me," she growled and Lice laughed.

"I took yous afore, whot makes you t'ink I can't do it again?" he taunted and her jaw tightened at the memory.

"'Cause I ain't from Queens no more," she informed. "I'se from Brooklyn," with that she lunged forward, pummeling him with her fists as she had dreamed of doing ever since that fateful night so long ago. The fear she felt washed away in the anger that he rose in her. She was so close to almost being happy, she wouldn't let Lice stand in the way of that.

Fairly quickly, Lice was able to control the direct onslaught from the gusty girl. Trading her blows with those of his own, Frost soon realized that she couldn't win on the offense and soon reverted to darting and dodging. The pain from all of the shame she had felt burned though her and she longed for revenge, but she also knew that she had to get back to Brooklyn. Spot was waiting for her. However, this was something that needed to be finished once and for all, she wouldn't life a life of fear anymore.

Ducking under his punches, she managed to launch herself into his torso, knocking him to the ground as she stood quickly, kicking him fiercely. There were no rules of etiquette in this battle, as Lice didn't hesitate to draw out his silver blade. Frost's face blanched at the sight.

"Lice," her voice took a condescending tone. "Whot ah yous doin'?" she stumbled back as she dodged the swift swipe of his blade.

"Don' tell me ya scahahd, Spectah," he sneered as he lunged again. "It's just a lil' fun," he taunted as she shrank away from the metallic instrument, but didn't run. She knew he was a knife thrower, she knew that he could pin her to the wall with that blade as easy as a fly if she turned and ran. "An' I'm goin' ta tell ta something," he watched her reactions carefully, practically daring her to run. "Ya might be an ugly bitch, but gawd it felt good," he saw the shame and fear flash across her features, but was soon replaced by raw fury. "I took ya once, and I'se could take ya again," he threatened and a muscle in her cheek jerked.

A red haze had settled in Frost's vision and now flamed with a passionate hate that blurred all sense of reason or dimension. Springing out at the shocked Lice, she ignored the deadly blade as she lashed out violently. It was all a blur of blows, punches, and kicks being blindly exchanged until the cold bite of steel scraped down her side. With a hissing gasp, she stumbled back from him, her hand pressing against the now searing pain. The sticky red stained the callused porcelain of her hand and Lice sneered. True he had no desire to kill her, but a little scrape might do well to show her his authority.

"Scahahd yet?" he mocked, and she gritted her teeth against the pain.

"Not of yous," she staggered back a few more steps, looking down to see that the knife had made a jagged cut all the way down the left side of her torso.

"Then Is'll have ta fix dat," he growled, coming towards her with his blood tipped knife.

"Frost!" The call came from the dissipating fog.

"Spot!" she returned with a voice as loud as she could muster.

Lice froze at the called name of the Brooklyn leader. Though he was confident he could oust him in a battle, especially with his knife, he didn't know if he was alone or unarmed. Finding a Queens boy with a knife and his bloody Brooklynite could spell trouble that was unwanted to say the least. So quickly he disappeared into the dark mist, but didn't stray too far.

"Spot!" Frost cried out again, stumbling towards the opening of the alley, barely noting Lice's departure. "Spot!"

"Frost!" Spot returned, tracing her voice through the boarder streets.

"Ovah heah!" She called, bracing herself against the brick wall, the wound on her side seeping steadily. Perhaps the cut was deeper than she first imagined. The loss of blood was making her slightly dizzy as the crimson stained her side.

"Frost!" Spot called to her as he saw her leaning against the wall, the scarlet stain on her side already painfully apparent. "Shit Frost," he muttered as he reached her. "Whot happened?" he extended a hand to press over the one she already had covering part of the seeping wound.

"Its just scratch," she brushed off his concern and forced a smile. He didn't look convinced. "Just help me walk a lil," she ordered, wrapping her free arm on her uninjured side around his shoulders. By the tenth step however, Frost had to stop, dizziness overwhelming as her knees started to buckle beneath her. Easing her to the ground, Spot watched her with a scowl as she pressed one bloodied hand to her temple.

"Frost, I'se goin' ta get help," Spot stooped next to the girl as he made moves to stand and walk away, but she reached out and grasped his sleeve.

"No," she gasped against the pain that seared through her with the sharp motion. "No," she repeated as he knelt with her and she turned back into a more comfortable pose. "I'se fine, just a lil' tailed, dat's all," the wobbly smile was far from enough to convince the skeptic scowling Spot.

"Lemma see youah side," Spot had a sickening sinking feeling even before she allowed him to look. The blade had sliced through the thin clothes and deeply into the side of her torso from her lower ribcage all the way to her hip. The jagged cut tore and angry strawberry gash that spilled out over her and his skin and clothes. Watching his face, Frost knew that he had realized that extent of her injury and unwanted tears began to well up in her eyes.

"Frost…" his voice drifted off, as he looked at her in the murky hours just before dawn.

"Kiss me," she ordered, as she didn't want him to see the tears that were going to fall. Willingly, he complied with her wishes as he lowered his mouth to hers gently. It was as if he was afraid he would break her If he pressed too hard as the fragile kiss continued. The tears she had hoped to withhold started to slide down her cheeks and at the salty sweetness, Spot pulled back and she was ashamed of her weakness.

"I'se soahy, Spot," she apologized, closing her eyes and sending two more teardrops sliding down her cheeks.

"You's going ta be a'ight, Frost," Spot gathered her into his arms and held her closely against his chest as she cried and he knew his words were false nothings. "Wes'll get ya ta a doctah," he promised. "An' it'll all woyk out, yous'll see," it was as if he were simply trying to fill the silence of her sobs with the comforts that applied to both of them. 

"Gawd," Frost gasped against the fabric of his coat. "I'se soahy Spot," she coughed this time, a spasm shook her frail body at the sudden jarring. Her pale complexion turning whiter and grayer at the same time as the life she had was steadily flowing from her. No, death wouldn't be merciful in a quick burst of pain like a bullet or knife to the heart. Fate and destiny allowed to life force to slowly drain from her in a cruel and bitter end. Time passed as she clung to Spot, his words washing over her and she wasn't even listening anymore, they were the same nonsensical phrases again and again. The tears had stopped and she wasn't sure when, but she knew that she didn't have the energy to keep up with the falling drops of crystalline misery.

She tried to shift so she could see Spot's face; she found it quite difficult to have her body cooperate. Gently, Spot adjusted her in his hold and looked her in the eyes and was suddenly struck by the cold, hard truth. She was dying right there in his arms and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. He wondered if she knew it, but by the look in her glassy eyes, she did. There was something about those eyes, how they should have been red-rimmed from crying but they were as all of her blood was escaping. An overwhelming surge of bitterness lodged itself in his throat as a million questions raced through his mind, a million more things he wanted to tell her, and a million more things he wanted to do with her. It was a sobering and maddening revelation that he wasn't going to be able to any of them.

"Spot?" her voice snapped him from his revere. "What's your real name?" she asked, the New York accent she had developed for her climate disappeared in the moments that she didn't have the energy to hold up any masks anymore. The question was so simple that Spot was struck with the reality that he knew virtually nothing about her and she less about him. They would never have the time to really get to know one another.

"Patrick," Spot responded, and she coughed again, her whole body shaking with it.

"Patrick," she said after the spasms had completed. "Patrick," she repeated, feeling it roll off the tip of her tongue, tasting it. "I like that name" she smiled slightly before coughing violently again. This time, a small trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth, contrasting violently with the chalky complexion of her skin, a sign of internal bleeding. Perhaps the gas was deeper than they first expected. "I'm sorry, Patrick," she gave a sad little smile as she tasted the coppery blood in her mouth and knew that the end was nearing. Spot felt a haze of red creep into his vision as the injustice of it all stuck into him like sharp claws.

He was mad at the person who was the reason behind the gash. He was mad for all the times that he would never have with her. He was mad for all the moments he had with Frost and not taken to their full advantage. He was mad at himself that he couldn't say the simplest words aloud. Blinking back the rageful tears, he listened as the breathing in her chest became labored, it was all happening too fast.

"Don't do dis, Frost," he pleaded and she coughed again, this time even more violently than before.

"I'm sorry," she rasped, saddened by a sense of failure she couldn't quell. Everything in her life had been one painful mistake after another she thought as she struggled to draw in her next breath, a strange gurgle accompanying the inhalation.

"Who did dis to ya Frost?" Spot's anger began to translate into a burning want for revenge for this life that was coming to an end far too soon. Even if it was just a common thief or newsie like himself, he would kill him for all the pain he was bringing. "Lose," his voice held urgency that made Frost's mind race, it was so hard to focus. "Who did dis to ya?" Spot asked again and she coughed again, this time much harder with that strange bubbling noise as more blood came from her mouth. 

"Patrick," she rasped, unsure of what else to say. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much she wanted to tell him, but she couldn't. Her mind raced as she tried to formulate a coherent thought, what should she tell him? "L – Li – L –" she stuttered the word, frustrated with herself that she couldn't make the simplest of words come out straight. Her breathing was becoming even harder as she was having to concentrate and fight for every breath she took, a rigid grasp overcame her body as it felt like a weight was clamping down on her ability to inhale. Her eyes shot open wide as a frantic feeling came over her, and she fought off the darkness that was seeping in around the corners of her eyes. Looking up at Spot for one last time, their eyes connecting and a wave of peace suddenly flooded her along with a bitter failure. She had failed him; she had gotten hurt, and now was going to die. Opening her mouth, she wanted to tell him that she loved him, but somehow couldn't bring herself to say it, so as she took one last rattling breath she felt the grip she had on his shirt loosen and her hand fall limply to her side. "Sorry," she rasped and then her eyes closed, all of the previous tenseness that had crept inside her body in the few last desperate moments disappeared.

Then she wasn't in the dark foggy New York street; she was back in Virginia as a small girl. She was running carelessly in a bright meadow with a crooked flower garland on her long chestnut hair, tangled in the wind. She was happy, she was at peace, she was laughing, then it was light and there was nothing.

"Frost," Spot said as her body went lax, but she was beyond hearing. "Frost," he said a little more urgently as he shook her slightly. "Lois!" he called, panic rising as he noted the wound has all but stopped bleeding and her chest was no longer moving to draw in air. "No," he whispered to himself, not wanting to believe it. Then he crushed her lifeless body to his chest, rocking back and forth; muttering nonsensical nothings over and over as he stroked her blood matted hair. The liquid staining him a damning red, crusting over his clothes in the murky dark.

The tears never came however, instead of an aching sorrow, the burning anger took over. Its powerful tide washed away all reason as the red thickly clouded his vision and thoughts. Anything and everything could be subjected to this rage, but only one was on his mind. Luke. Frost's final stuttering had left no doubt in his mind that her brother was responsible for her death since he had no knowledge of Lice's part of all of this. For his intolerance and infidelity to his sister, Luke would meet with death much like his sister had before him. Knowing that he was most likely still in the area, Spot released his violent grip on the lifeless girl.

As much as he was torn over what to do with her body, Spot knew that he couldn't carry her and that it would be foolish to try. Even if he could carry her back to the Brooklyn lodging house, there was no way they would be able to afford the price of a cemetery plot or a proper burial. The city would find her and bury he with all of the other orphans and runaway that they found dead on these streets, the unclaimed bodies of the voiceless group of the suffering would be given a nameless grave on a plot of assigned ground. It was sickening, but true. So with a torn heart, he lay her gently on the ground and arranged her with as much dignity as he could. Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before he looked her over one last time, then with his heart burning with purpose and his head held high, he straightened and turned without looking back.

Out of the shadows came a dubious character that had watched the scene unfold from a safe distance. His two-toned eyes probing the surrounding area for observers before walking to the fallen girl. Shamelessly, he dug within her pockets and took whatever of value he could find before straightening and casting a smirk down at her. If she had died from such a simple cut, maybe she wasn't the girl that he thought her to be. She wasn't the key to Queens, no, she never had been. She had merely been a stepping stone, but things change. So with his mind already turning with a new plan, Lice returned to the Queens warehouse with hopes of a few hours of sleep before selling the morning edition

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//Build your own demise,  
Buried alive,  
No use to revive,

Gravedigger…//

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Outsider ducked under a right hook, kicking out against his attacker. Whoever this boy was, he wanted that cross pretty badly. The eye-patched boy fist launched forth once again, and then again, Outsider was getting tired of dodging. Blood trickled from the corner of the newsie's mouth, the same color as the jewel in the middle of the cross, from a direct blow he had taken.

"You're slowing down, boy," the one with the eye patch teased, as he swung out one final time. His fist coming in firm contact with Outsider's jaw, sending his head reeling back and slamming against the brick edifice behind him. There was a sickening crack as the boy slumped, his eyes rolling back into his head.

A victorious smile twisted Luke's thin lips as he knelt beside the unconscious boy, prying open the fist he knew to hold the prize. Sure enough, the gold cross lay there in all of its glory. With reverence he picked up the tiny prize that would cost him more than he ever knew. Finally, it was his. A sick smile pressed upon his face as he revered the jeweled lovely, standing he gave the fallen boy a mock salute as he walked out into the fog-covered street.

Darkness was still upon the streets of New York as the fog made it impossible for any kind of carriage to navigate on the streets without high chance of collision. Even the street lamps did little to penetrate the cloud like covering, but Luke didn't care, he had the key. As he strolled along the road, he felt an unusual lightness and he no longer cared about the fate of his sister. If she reappeared in his life, he could simply remove her, and he highly doubted she would be stupid enough to try anything.

Turning a corner, he was shocked to feel himself running into something, or rather, someone. Stumbling back a few steps, an apology was on his lips until he recognized whom he had stumbled upon. There was a dangerous glint in his blue diamond eyes as his clothes were stained a brilliant red fading to a sickening brown. His chest was heaving, the key around his neck rising and falling with each deep inhalation. His non-splinted hand gripped a gold-tipped cane possessively, and even in the dim light and fog, Luke could see the pulse throbbing madly in the boy's tensed neck.

"You bastahd," Spot spat at Luke's feet and the eye-patched boy's eyebrow raised comically.

"I beg your pardon sir," Luke mocked the enraged lad and made moves to walk away when Spot took a menacing step forward.

"I knows whot you did," Spot's teeth were gritted in fierce intimidation. A dark chill ran down Luke's spine, but he pushed it away with the reckoning that this was simply a boy, but there was something very lethal in his presence. Automatically, he assumed that he meant that he knew about the boy in alley, and he scoffed.

"That was nothing," a wicked smiled crept onto his face. "I can show you how I did it, if you like," he tempted and Spot's nostrils flared.

"Ladies foist," he growled through clenched teeth and Lice lunged at him, a mistake.

Dodging to the side, Spot easily brought his cane across the older boy's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Whirling around to face off again, Lice smiled through the pain and Spot continued to glare. Obviously Luke had underestimated his young opponent, one thing that you should never do with a small Brooklyn boy. The smaller your were, the better fight you had to be, especially if you were a newsie.

They circled for a moment, Spot carefully mirroring every move of his assailant. He wasn't going to attack him though the anger surging through him needled him to, no, he would wait. So wait he did until Luke came forward with a series of punches. The majority, Spot was able to dodge with ease. Kicking out, he managed to off-balance his opponent shoving him to the ground. Unfortunately, Luke caught a hold of Spot's cane and yanked him down along with him.

Unable to react for a moment, Spot lay stupefied a terrible mistake. For in an instant, pinned situation Luke had ushered him into and rose quickly to his feet, the weariness in his body forgotten as the strength of pain and anger surged through him.

Spot turned just in time to see a flash of metal coming towards him and he lunged to the side, crashing to the cobblestones, his cane dropping from his grip. Pain jolted through his body as his upper back skidded across the rough ground, and stars flashed before his eyes. Blood leaked as red as fire from his mouth and from a cut above his eye. Darkness was seeping in from the corners of his eyes and he fought against it. He couldn't lose consciousness, not now. The memory of Frost bleeding in his arms pressed the darkness away just in time for him to see Luke coming near with a dangerous knife. Even in the fog, the metallic instrument glinted menacingly.

Rolling, Spot moved swiftly to the place that his cane had fallen, knowing that he would need it. Gripping it he felt the cool agony of the blade slicing into the flesh of his arm and he rolled away yet again. Growling against the pain, he glared at Luke who was coming at him again with the intent to do more than injure his arm. Leaping to his feet, Spot swung his cane as hard as he could, fueled by the wrath of his wound. His walking stick made direct connection with the back of Luke's skull with a resonating crack that shook Spot as he saw the youth's face blanch, then go blank. In that moment, time froze.

For an instant, Luke's single black orb shot to Spot's blue diamonds, staring at him in shock as he staggered forward a few steps, obviously dizzy from the blow. There was a lump in one of the stones unforeseen by the stumbling assailant and the toe of his boot caught on it. With a look of unadulterated terror, he crashed forward, his own knife driving deeply into his chest. 

There was silence until a shuddering exhalation from the dying youth's mouth stirred the thick vapors, then all was still. Dropping to his knees beside the lad, Spot flipped him over roughly. Already the single dark eye was glazed and staring into oblivion that no living mortal had ever seen. One hand was still firmly coiled around the handle of deadly weapon; the other clenched in a loose fist at his side. A trail of warm sticky blood stained the corner of his slack jaw, and whatever river had been flowing from his chest had stopped as his heart had failed to pump any to the severed veins.

A golden glint caught the cerulean blue eyes as they darted to the closed fist. Instantly, he was prying it open, not allowing it to harden closed in the cold grip of death. Sure enough, just as his suspicion had held, a long chain looking to be as thread spun from gold with a cross matching in color was held there. What Luke had been searching for long and hard had been his only briefly before the atonement for his sins and greed ended ultimately in his own death. 

With a trembling hand, he picked up the bloodthirsty object, the object that had caused all of this death, all of this hate, and clenched it in his own hand. Standing, he looked around in the darkness, the vapors clinging to him, as he stared at the object in his palm once more. The blood on his clothes was drying, forming a crust upon him, and his victory over Luke seemed very hallow somehow. Though avenged for Frost's untimely death, there was still something terribly unfair and wickedly cruel about it all. The anger he felt was no longer justified as he had destroyed the one that had destroyed his love. So as he stood there, the terrible anger he had felt began to simmer into something else.

Something much more painful.

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//Gravedigger,

When you dig my grave,

Could you make it shallow?

So I can feel the rain,

Gravedigger…//

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The dawn was upon them, soon the rest of the boys and girls would be waking and going about their lives, readying to sell papers, and Spot knew he would have to join them. As he stood on the docks, he felt comforted by the normality of it all, but it was far from enough to console the sullen boy. It truly was a dismal sunrise as the icy wind whipped around him; combing invisible fingers through his blood matted hair and stinging his exposed skin.

The sun wasn't bright, as the fog had risen to a low overhang of heavy angry looking clouds. His face set as granite as he surveyed all he could from his vantagepoint. The water lapped against the wooden supports, but was unnoticed as the city slept for their few more precious moments. There was no expression of the leader's visage as he looked down at his clenched fist. A slight falter could be detected as he opened his bruised and bloody hand, a golden cross glinting in the faint light, the red center as crimson as the lifeblood that was now fading to brown on his clothes and flesh.

The wind picked up its force as the zephyrs pulled at his threadbare coat and clothes. His no longer splinted hand ached, but he ignored the pain as he clutched the chain in his fingers and lifted and watched as it twisted and turned in the gusts. The pale sunlight dimmed to an extreme by the dark overhang as the Brooklyn leader's eyes matched the skies above. Their painful gray reflecting the knowledge that Frost was gone, but it was still too soon to realize it. So as he drew the necklace back and unhooked the tiny clasp.

With fumbling fingers he brought it around his neck and tried to refasten it. Between the numbness, the ache, and the exhaustion, it was near impossible to fasten the miniature clasp behind his neck, but after much trouble, he did. The small golden cross with the delicate chain looked out of place along with the large brass key with the rough cording, but he didn't care. With his good hand, he clutched it fiercely, his stormy eyes scanning out over the murky waters and up to the dark sky as a bolt of lightning cut across the sky.

It was as though the bolt had sliced open the sky for it began to poor out the freezing rain. Biting the skin of his face as he stared into oblivion, blinking only when the piercing drops directly hit his orbs. The wind continued to blow with an unknown strength, and one would think that a boy so small would be blown right off the dock, but he stood as a statue. Never once did he move from his place as the cool agony poured out around him in a sobering finality.

Though as he stood alone in the grim dawn, the bullets of rain pounding around him, one could have sworn that it was tears that trickled down his red stung cheeks. If someone had asked him, he would have denied it, he might have even told them to go to hell because Spot Conlon didn't cry. 

Brooklyn couldn't cry.

Though as he stood under the sky as it unleashed its fury upon the scorned earth, something with scalding warmth trickled from the corners of his eyes, unheeded by their possessor. The boy stood seeking answers that he knew he would never receive, praying to the heavens that he could join Frost in the afterlife. An ache spread through him that he hadn't known he could feel before, and as he fell to his knees under the storming sky, he bowed his head, unable to stand any longer.

He cried.

No, he sobbed. Deep heart-wrenching cries that could be heard over the claps of thunder and the clatter of the rain, but he didn't care. He was beyond caring because he had cared too much. Caring is what got him into that situation. The pelting drops felt like a million needles pricking his skin, but he didn't move. The only proof that he was alive was the heavy heaving of his shoulders as his grief overtook his body.

He cried for all of the times he had denied himself to let the tears flow. He cried for all of the moments that he had hated himself for what he had forced himself to become. He cried for all that he had lost because of what he had become. He cried for his past, he cried for his feature, he cried knowing that this would be the last time he cried for at least another good while, if ever again.

Most of all, he cried because he loved her – but she would never know.

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A/N: :: sniff :: There is going to be one _maybe_ two more chapter to pull this all together all bridge it into **Blind Spot** which I can put full attention into – but – once I am done with this fiction, I can post new stuff. So **Blind Spot** might be on the back burner until I get out some one-shot ideas that I haven't been able to use. AAAAAAAGGGGGH! I killed my favorite original character! I killed her! She died! Angst! Angst! Angst! I am going to die. I am just going to go die now. I can't tell you how sad I am right now, she was like my sister and now she is dead! Oh gosh, I am getting weepy now, excuse me while I go bawl.

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Rae Kelly: I will write something disgustingly happy sometime! So there! Agh, I can't believe I killed her, hopefully you won't hate me for it. Thanks for the review….

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Emotions/Ice: Do you know how much it hurts to kill off your favorite original character? A lot. Okay with that said, last chapters are always the hardest because you have to tie in all of the lose ends and if you have a sequel, you have to leave that option open – somehow. I have found that you just have to start writing and write out different options and most of the time you will find the _one_ that is just what you were looking for. I can't tell you how many times I wrote this chapter… well I wrote it all once – and then my laptop deleted it…. :: mutters something about destroying her unworthy laptop before going into a corner and bawling ::

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Kaylee: Yet another delayed update from me, but with good reason. My stupid laptop deleted all 10,000 + words of the original take of this chapter. Oh well, I think I like this re-write better, but to say the least I was distraught. As I have said before, the last chapter is the hardest, but I am sure that you will do fine. I'm on the favorites list? I am so honored… I don't know if I will be after this chapter – but I can dream can't I?

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Tiger: I am glad you enjoy it, thanks for the review.

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Ireland O'Reily: I killed her. I killed her. I can't believe I killed her. I knew that I was going to do it, but actually doing it is so much harder. I can't tell you how sorry I am for the major delay of chapters, but yeah – stuff happens. Like laptops deleting all 10,000 + words of your finished chapter just before posting. :: cough :: but I'm not bitter.

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Frenchy DeWolfe: Thank you for the compliments and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter even though I killed Frost. :: breaks down :: I'm glad that you liked it, and I hope that you liked this chapter too, even if it was terrible and awful and I KILLED FROST! :: bawls :: Okay, I am obviously far too emotional to give a proper thank you, so I am just going to be leaving you now. Thanks for the review.

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A/N: All I have to say is anyone who says that a paragraph is a long chapter, read this. This chapter alone is 16 pages long (Tahoma 10pt. Font), 12,971 words long, 56,908 characters without spaces long, 69,599 characters with spaces long, has 221 paragraphs, and 812 lines. That is without the song inserts, the author's notes, warning, shout outs, anything extra. It is just the raw text. So if you bothered to read it, leave me a review. I really could use the moral support right now.


	18. Finally Free

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: Yeah, so, I got mono or else this chapter would have been up a lot faster. No I didn't kiss anyone, thank you. This is it, you guys. I am actually really sad that I am almost done with this story, but I already killed Frost, so what the heck, right? Then I'll move back to **Blind Spot** and hopefully finish that – sometime. Maybe before December so then I will have finished it before a whole year had passed…. Yeah. Right. Sure…. Anyway, on with the story.

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG for general angst, and suicidal undertones.

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Chapter 17: Finally Free

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//The life that you took was mine,

We can't be happy all the time.

Out of sight but your haunt my mind,

I need a remedy to kill the pain…//

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It was cold. Unseasonably so as the month of April was near gone, and May fast approaching. The brisk zephyrs blew threw the unchanging city. The stone buildings as unfeeling as the cobblestone streets they stood upon, the city was a monument to prestige and prosperity. That would never change. The city itself never changed, the people within it, however, did.

The cemetery was quite. Empty in the late afternoon as those who had home to return to did so with haste. A boy with his gray cap pulled low over his steely eyes slipped over the gate, making sure that no one was watching him. Silently he stole across the familiar grassy terrain, cutting his course to the place he had visited religiously, but secretly. The trademark cane knocked against his shins as he went to the heart of the graveyard, the trees and shrubbery unusual for the city boy.

Though the cemetery was far outside of Brooklyn, over the bride, and even past Manhattan, he went nearly every day to the place they had seen fit to lay her. The place where they lay all of the runaway and the unknown nobodies with no one to claim or care for them. That is where they put Frost, along with all of the other orphans of the city. A piece of government owned ground and as Spot approached the place where she lay, his pace slowed from a brisk walk.

The unembellished grave had no tombstone as the maps of the cemetery keeper marked out all of the plots in use. There was a large tree with its branches making a large overhang, shading the plot where they had laid her. The grass didn't yet grow back over the hard packed ground. The mound was cracked and hard, as it had been unseasonably dry. The last precipitation had come that fateful night as it had melded into day, lasting long into the next night, covering everything in a deadly layer of ice as the cold night air had frozen it.

Spot remembered it all too well.

The blood had washed from his clothes as he lay prostrate in the rain, unable to will himself to stand and face the dawn like a man. Hanging around his neck remained the single gold cross, its ruby red center glinting in the late afternoon light as the days seemed to stretch out longer than before and the even didn't settle upon them with near the speed and readiness that it once had. The grass that was around the cemetery was dead and brown with the cold and the lack of moisture. No signs of spring were appearing as they normally would. 

Climbing into the tree that was by her final resting-place, Spot looked down upon the grave. More than once he had slept in that tree as he watched her grave like some divine protector. The gash on his arm had scabbed over nicely, and infection had not settled within it as Emily, the lodging house owner's daughter had assisted him in the repair of his wound. The cold he had received from the long night and rain bound dawn hadn't kept him from selling papers, though it had hindered his recovery. Only recently had he noted that nearly all of the symptoms had completely left. The physical abuses and afflictions had nearly disappeared but the emotional scars would last for an eternity.

A week ago at the leader's summit, he had returned the objects that were left in the handkerchief possessed by the only non-attending member, the Stanton Island leader. That object had been released to a girl that he had seen passing in the street. A complete and total stranger had received something that held much past and much meaning that they would never know, but Spot was beyond caring. While part of him wanted to cling to every last reminder of the girl, another wanted to purge anything and everything of her essence and manner from his memory. The turmoil filled relationship between the Brooklyn leader and the hapless renegade wanderer had been terminated far before the time he desired as he looked down upon the hardened earth. A bitter twist it was and he felt the familiar hurt and anger surge through him.

She had been such an unresolved character of secrets and lies, and for as much as he had known about her, he had, in reality, known very little. He hadn't even known her full name, much less anything that was truly important. The cross he bore around his neck now was a perfect example of what hate and greed could accomplish. Two bodies now lay in this cemetery, unmarked except for the hard mound of earth. He remembered the attempt at humor even in her demise, her caustic reminder that she hadn't seen the Vaudeville. There were many things that she would never get to do now, all because of the small cross he carried with him now as a reminder of her and her untimely death. 

It wasn't fair at all. 

Though he had slew her brother, avenging her and the years of pain she must have suffered. The accomplishment seemed worthless now as all he could do was sit and stare at her grave. There was something very sobering about the fact that he simply couldn't do anything about the fact that she had died or the fact that she wasn't coming back. It would have been better if she had gone to Chicago, then he knew that there was at least a chance, no matter how small, that he would be reunited with her in this life. Now, however, there was no promise as such as he could still remember the vibrant crimson of her lifeblood staining his clothes and saturating the New York streets. Having become acclimated to a life and position of power, he hated the feeling of being out of control, and that was exactly what he was.

It wasn't fair.

Fairness was another thing that he wasn't akin to. Life on the streets had taught him that nothing was fair and nothing ever would be fair as he looked at his bleak atmosphere. The gray overcast sky told of little light and less hope as the thick cloud coverage hid the sun's brilliant rays from the earth's face. The traditional greening of the countryside hadn't arrived on schedule, as the world looked every bit as cold and miserable as it had one week past. The snow had disappeared as had the frost, simply leaving the cold hard earth and all of its bitter wonders. Even the weather wasn't fair, winter cutting into spring's splendor. Just once he wanted it to be fair.

A biting wind stung his cheeks as he sat on his perch, mulling over the same thoughts again and again. How if he had been slightly faster, slightly better, slightly smarter, slightly kinder, slightly more yielding, slightly less stubborn, slightly wittier, slightly more expressive, slightly more tactful, slightly stronger, slightly better than he was, he might have been able to save her. Again and again, the possibilities played over in his mind. His inner demons torturing him with all of the might-have-beens and could-have-beens that brought forth an undecoded rage within him. He hadn't been able to save her he hadn't been able to help her. He couldn't even tell her that he loved her. What a coward, what an incredible coward he was.

"I love yous," he whispered now, looking down at the hard still earth, his words catching on the wind and sweeping away through the field of death.

Jumping down from his position in the tree, he grasped the gold tipped cane and the golden cross around his neck. With one final look at the hard packed earth he headed back for Brooklyn, resolved never to return to this place again.

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//But can you save me?

Come on and save me.

If you could save me,

Would you save me…?//

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Outsider looked out the window of the lodging house. Dusk had fallen into twilight as evening pressed forth with the unexplained but expected rhythm of a day gone by. Thousands of stars glittered in the sky but were hidden by a thick cloud overlay as Outsider was withdrawn from the group. The paper in his pocket burned with an unexpected guilt as found it harder and harder each day to bring it forth and return it to the boy who was the rightful owner. Spot.

The crumpled note was now a constant reminder of the fateful night that had taken place so many weeks ago. Nearly a month had passed and Outsider had noticed the change in their leader, but none of the others seemed to have noted the fact that he was abnormally withdrawn and solemn. This, however, was a good thing as the majority simply was told that Frost had left for Chicago and no one had asked any other questions. Perhaps that was a good thing. Outsider was the only one that knew that Frost was dead, besides Spot, who had felt obligated to tell his second in command exactly what had happened, even if Spot hadn't known that Outsider had come in direction contact with Luke.

It was a tangled web of events, that night. One where everything seemed terribly destined as a girl had avoided her fate too long. No one mortal knew the entirety of the situation, no one ever would, but they knew the total of the equation added up to the loss of a girl who's fire and spirit had challenged them all, freezing them cold at the same time.

The thoughtful reverie of the Brooklyn's second was interrupted as the dark haired boy entered the main bunkroom. His hair uncovered as the result of the loss of his hat that night, the purchase of a new one would most likely not occur for another few weeks. The note seared at his flesh through the thin cloth of his pants pocket, and gauging by Brooklyn's expression, he wasn't in the best of moods, but it was now or never.

"Spot," he called across the room in greeting to the somber leader and Spot's crystalline eyes were brought up to his. He didn't speak, but asked what Outsider wanted with his eyes. A dark pain hidden behind their blue depths that was still very fresh and real and Outsider swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly very dry. "Can I'se talk ta you?" he asked, forcing his voice out of his suddenly very tight trachea. Spot simply turned back out the door and walked into the hall where none of the newsies stayed, due to the unwanted chill that was vanquished by the fire in the other room.

"Whot?" Spot asked once they were alone. The light and warmth from the other room very much gone as the door had been such, vanquishing whatever glimpse of a warmer atmosphere or comfort Outsider might have had. Though taller than the Brooklyn leader by a few inches, Outsider could feel the intense currents flowing from the small boy. Though there was a chill in the unheated air, it seemed intensified by Spot's demeanor. There was no turning back now and Outsider dove his hand into his pocket and extended the extracted crumpled wad to Spot.

"Heah," he said as Spot eyed it suspiciously, but keeping the icy façade that he had mastered so well. "Dis is youahs," Spot took the note and glared at his companion. "I took it tha night Frost ran," he explained hastily.

"An' yous just now givin' it ta me?" Spot's voice was a salty low and Outside wasn't sure how to read his intonation.

"Yeah," Outsider shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, unsure of how to respond to the breaking of the news. There was a deafening silence and Outsider's eyes stayed connected with Spot's as he found it impossible to withdraw them. There was an almost unperceivable alteration in the back of his swirling orbs, before his fist shot out like a cobra and came hard across Outsider's jaw. His head snapped back and there was a sharp copper bite of blood on his tongue. A haze of red flashed across his vision and he felt the automatic street instinct to respond to the blow, but was brought readily back to earth as he saw Spot walking calmly back out of the hallway and down the stairs to exit the building. He had deserved that blow and he knew it.

The salty tang of the blood stayed as he licked his lip, feeling the split in the chapped flesh. Placing a hand to the place where he had been struck, Outsider worked his jaw carefully, knowing full well that he had deserved every bit of the pain and probably more. Stealing something from a fellow newsie, especially the leader, could be punished by much more than a single blow. Knowing it was pointless to go after Spot and futile to stand in the cold, dreary hall, Outsider returned to the warmth of the bunkroom and the inviting company of friends.

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//This feeling inside me,

Finally found my love,

I'm finally free,

No longer torn in two…//

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Spot had stormed down the stairs, knowing full and well what the note was and debating whether or not to read it. The lodging house owner's dark haired daughter, Emily was downstairs when he arrived at the bottom and she looked at him curiously with her peculiar green eyes. Her dark hair pulled back into a long braid down her back as she stood behind the front desk, organizing and cleaning, as was her custom. Through his rage and upset, he remembered the fact that she was a lady and a girl that had helped him on occasion, and nodded politely. Her cheeks flushed at this and hurriedly ducked her head to the papers with which she was fumbling. Spot shrugged the event off as he opened the door into the night, the paper burning in his hand much as the golden cross, burned around his neck.

He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but he was going to get there. The mind, which controlled Brooklyn, wandered dangerously to endless possibilities of escape, or refuge. There were no concrete options as he felt the aching addiction of nicotine calling to him. With his free hand he began to rummage through his pockets, attempting to find what he needed for his fix. The match and smoke were found in good time as he continued to walk, placing the butt of his addiction between his lips. Striking the match against a building he lit the cigarette, extinguishing the match, he took a long deep breath of the intoxicating smoke. He just wanted to forget.

He wanted to forget what he cared so much and what had made him feel so intensely. He wanted to forget the harsh words and the fights that had left his blood burned and his heart pounding. He wanted to forget the way she tasted and the way her thin frame felt pressed flush against his. He wanted to forget the fact that he loved her, but there was always something to make him remember. The cross around his neck was a kind of self-inflicted torture as his feet took the familiar path to the bridge that held so many memories.

The dark bridge was lifeless and cold as the heart inside of Spot as he stood in the dim lamplight wondering if he truly wanted to read the note that Frost had left him. He could light it on fire with his cigarette or perhaps just throw it over the edge of the bridge. Her memory was like a ghost, constantly haunting him, his heart being the host to the taunting apparition. His soul ached with the desire to simply hurl him over the edge and be rid of all of the conflicting feelings and wants.

The wind picked up once more, ruffling his hair with its invisible fingers and tossing his frozen breath to the skies. This breeze wasn't as cutting or chilling as the one at the cemetery, it was almost warm, almost speaking of the hope of times yet to come. Unwittingly, Spot felt hot tears spring into his eyes as he staggered out further onto the bridge, the city night illuminated only by the flickering street lamps.

He was tired, so very tired. Tired of fighting feelings that he didn't want to have, tired of knowing that he was only too human. Tired of having those he cared about leave him, betray him, tired of being strong for others. Tired of failing because he hadn't even tried, and tired of knowing that he really had little control over anything. He was tired of carrying around memories that wouldn't die and tired of feeling empty. For a time, when she was with him, even when they were fighting, Frost had made him feel whole. She had challenged him, brought back that spark of fire, the fight that had kept him going for so long, the spark that had been beaten out of him in the Refuge.

The soft breeze blew around him, cutting through his clothes to his bare skin, raising goose flesh upon his body, making him tremble. He didn't know where to go, he didn't know where to stay. He wanted to stay, yet he wanted to leave. Maybe Frost had the right idea by deserting them all at the train station. Just take what little money he had in his pocket and go as far as he possibly could, just to get out of this God forsaken place. He wanted it all but had absolutely no way to even dream about all of his desires.

So as he stood in the flickering light of the lamp, sweet suicide calling him, his cigarette rapidly disintegrating in his lips, he looked at the crumpled wad of paper in his fist. It would be so easy to simply toss it over the bridge, to somehow mock Frost for leaving him before he wanted her to. To somehow smite her and her hurt her the way the she had hurt him. To degrade her wishes and mock her in her grave, to let her know that she had no control over him. He wanted to destroy the note, sending it to the bottom of the East River along with the necklace that had caused all of this turmoil. 

But he couldn't.

She still held his heart. She still had the control over him that he cursed with all the black in his soul. So with a heavy conscious and the taste of self-loathing so present in his mind, he opened the crumpled note, and focused his tired, glassy eyes upon the script.

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Dear Spot,

I left tonight and I'm not coming back. My train will be halfway to Chicago by the time you get this letter. You won't be seeing me again, which probably is a good thing to you, but I will think of you and Brooklyn ever day, dream of you every night. Your ribs should be healed in about a week or so, your hand in about three.

I wish I had the time to explain everything to you, but I don't. There is someone here that can. Do you remember that night where I was with a girl on the streets and you confronted me about her? It seems that was forever ago, but you have to find her. She is a barmaid from Queens that I befriended in my time there. Go to the bar named 'The Red' and ask for Cecile. Show her my cross necklace from the pouch that was with this letter, she will tell you everything she knows.

I am very sorry Spot, I just wish things could have been different between us. I'm letting you go.

I love you Spot Conlon.

Yours truly,

Lois

His mind was a blank. His heart raced and his mouth was dry, the words seemed to swim together on the page except for the one fated phrase. I love you. It rang out again and again in his mind, and in the whisper of the wind he could almost imagine that it was her fingers running through his hair, her voice whispering those words into his ear canal. She loved him, she had loved him, she had loved him and he had been too stupid to see. A mix of hate and joy churned within him as he wadded the note into a tight ball in his fist. He was torn between shouting for the happiness the confession had made or hurling the fateful paper over the bridge in rage for the untimeliness of the proclamation. 

It came that he did neither, but looked up at the sky. A patch of clouds had cleared, showing a few twinkling stars as they shone like ice crystals on the navy backdrop. They winked and glittered above him as if they were trying to cheer his heavy spirit. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, trying to calm the raging feelings that were tearing at him. The injustice of it all came sweeping over him once more with renewed vigor as he thought of all the times he had stood on this bridge with Frost and how she would never stand there with him again. Again the breeze blew, teasing his hair, tickling his skin, and he shut his eyes, willing the pain to leave him.

If he tried hard enough, the gentle zephyr almost felt like her lips pressed against his and he let out a strangled sigh. Opening his eyes, reality came crashing back around him with all the soft kindness of a boulder. Allowing his head to droop, he looked at his clenched fist where the short note was held captive, and he felt a sudden and strange conflicting peace. Another soft breeze played over his stoic form, and he looked back up at the exposed patch of heaven. The feeling of being very small and lost in the universe faded into a surreal oneness that made his breath catch in his throat. It was as though she was there with him, and perhaps in a way, she was. He could feel her.

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I love you.

The words were no longer a torment, a curse. They were balms to the still seeping wound on his soul. The zephyrs seemed to be using their soft breaths to fan the spark that was somehow left beneath the ashes of his spirit. He couldn't describe it, or explain how it suddenly occurred, but in the confusion and loose condition of the situation, Spot felt calm. The pain was still very real, the hurt was something that would never completely leave, but somehow, it wasn't a crushing oppressive weight anymore.

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I love you.

The wind seemed to carry her voice to his ears and he shook his head suddenly. Breaking himself from the grasp of the soulful reverie. 

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I'm letting you go, let me go.

He heard the words as clear as day whispered to him and the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect. He didn't want to let go, he didn't want to forget. _Let go_. The words came again and he turned to see that he was still so very much alone. He didn't want to let go, but he knew there was nothing left to hold. _Let go_. It came once more and he stared up at a single pristine star, shimmering as ice within the sky, and then it was gone. The turmoil within him simply vanished and he could almost feel the warmth siphoning through his veins. _Let go_. The words were now an encouragement as he shut his eyes and breathed deeply. With a deep sigh, he opened the blue diamonds and felt his shoulders relax. Flicking the butt of his cigarette over the edge of the bridge he simply stood there.

She wanted him to let her go. She wanted him to go on with his life. Just as she had challenged him in life, she now challenged him from death, asking him to do what very well could have been impossible. He didn't want to, and he knew that, but he also knew that she was right. In life, she had been willing to let him go if only to save him from the fate she had received so untimely. If she had been so willing to sacrifice, he too would rise to the occasion.

The single star winking and sparkling in the night sky seemed to offer silent encouragement and a small smile tugged at the corners of his full lips. The first genuine smile he had offered since the time that she had passed. With his free hand he gripped the necklace that lay on his chest and felt his spirit rise to the challenge. It wouldn't be easy to move on, but he knew it was what she wanted, it was what he must do. So as he stood under the night sky, in simple, silent reverie, he knew that she loved him, and that somehow, she knew he loved her as well.

The spark that had been dormant for so long now was beginning to kindle something within him that he had forgotten. The will to live, the want to be alive. As she had given him a challenge in life, she gave him life in death. To live the life that she now would never get to fulfill. In the night, he knew. In the darkness, he found the light.

And as he stood under the night sky, staring at the single exposed patch of heaven, watching the winking stars, Spot smiled.

He was free.

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A/N: Okay, so yes, there is an epilogue coming up soon, but this the real, final chapter. It is just kind of resolving the last bits of loose ends and giving our hero as happy an ending as one can get out of this kind of angst. Yeah. I really want to get at least 90 reviews! So come on and help me out here! I know this was a stupid, corny, awful chapter, but I want reviews! Tell me what sucks about my writing!

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Frenchy DeWolfe: I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was a very draining chapter for me, but I am glad you enjoyed it. Yeah, that is what I am supposed to do as an author right? Make stories that people can enjoy? Yeah, well, Yeah…. Thank you so much for your support. It is done, I can't believe it….

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Ireland O'Reily: HOW DID YOU KNOW SHE WAS GOING TO DIE? Are you Miss. Cleo? Yeah, well, thanks for the emotional support. Ha, ha. YOU are my support group! Ha, ha. Right…. Anyway, I have finished it. It is done. This thing that has been going on forever is done. Complete. Totally and utterly finished. And I think that I am pretty happy with it. I will have to go back through and work on the continuity with revisions and such, but right now, I am really happy that it is done. Thank you a ton, I really do love and appreciate you. :: hugs ::

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Umm…: I'm sorry I killed her! I didn't want to, trust me! I really hope that this epilogue helped ease the pain a bit, but yeah. **Blind Spot** is the sequel to this story. This is the first of a trilogy. **Blind Spot** is the second, and the third is yet to be seen. So you should go read it and leave me lots of reviews. ^_^ Thank you for your support and your review. Sorry I made you cry.

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Caitie: Aw, you love my story? Thank you. Yeah, I killed her, I am evil. Well now this story is done and you can go and read **Blind Spot,** which I personally like, _a lot _more plot-wise then this one. It is finished, it is done. Thank you.

:: Does the review dance :: COME ON! Ha, ha. Sorry, I'm sick. I am weird when I am sick.


	19. Epilogue

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Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.

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A/N: Yeah, so the epilogue. Wow. So close to being done. So close, so close….

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Warning: This chapter is rated PG for light language and implied violence.

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Epilogue

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//Every story new or ancient,

Bagatelle or work of art,

All are tales of human failing,

All are tales of love at heart….//

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It was mid-May and the weather had warmed considerably in the past two weeks. Spring finally looked like it was ready to come and stay. The warmth was a welcome change from New York's brutal winter fare. Signs of green in the park and in the window gardens brought hope that the never ending cold would finally resign to other regions of the world. The warmer weather spurred people to take strolls in the greening parks and along the sidewalks of the busy byways. Outside activities weren't the only things inspired by the warmth.

Queens was in a state of unrest. Rumors and lies were being tossed about, and Brink, not nearly the leader he was made-out to be, was crumbling under the pressure. By the end of the month, he had fallen under the stress. The boys of Queens had turned against the boy who had really just been a front piece for a strange dark eyed, chestnut haired girl. The glory days of Queens were now over, fading into an oblivion as an outsider, an outcast, stepped forward and took hold of the lose territories' reins. His strange, two-toned eyes watching over the group of rowdy children and youths with a steel hand and a mind as sharp as steel.

Greed, something that is never satisfied, was already calling for him to attempt something completely and totally unheard of. The takeover of an entire neighboring territory, the taking over of Brooklyn.

A twisted smile came across his thin lips as he looked around the dingy warehouse where he stayed with his Queens boys. The boxes arranged in a kind of court, their deformed circle served as a general meeting place, a makeshift bunkroom, and courtroom where Lice himself now served as judge. His eyes, one dark as midnight and one light as the noon summer sky looked around at the rough and tumble boys of his Queens realm. Their smudged and dirty faces looked indignant, but willing as they listened to what their new leader had to say.

"Anyone who catches one a dem Brooklyn bastahds even close ta ouah sellin' teahtoahy, I wont ya ta soak dem good enough dat dey will loyn not ta be dat close ta da boahdah," Lice instructed and a surly looking lad stepped forward.

"Why ya wont us ta do dat?" He inquired. "We ain't got nuttin' against Brooklyn," he pointed out and Lice's strange eyes hardened.

"We ain't got ta have nuttin' against dem ta teach dem a lesson. Dey's been comin' too close ta ouah sellin' spots foah a long time. Pretty soon, we ain't even goin' ta have no moah business an' yous goin' ta be stahvin' cause you ain't been able ta sell youah papes," Lice nearly preached to them, his voice holding such a passion and conviction that even the darkest doubts were dissolved. "Fix 'em so dey know dat Brooklyn ain't tha toughest place 'round. Queens' got 'em beat by a mile," At that impassioned statement, a cheer rose and Lice let his lips twist into a sickening smirk.

Yes, and this was only the beginning.

Brooklyn had no idea what was coming.

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A/N: Okay, Epilogue now up and ready for action. Now you can go and read **Blind Spot** and have it make a lot more sense. This is a good thing. A very good thing. So I don't think I am going to make it to my 90 review mark goal, but you know what? I'll live. :: shrug :: Yeah, it is a sad thing, but I can deal. Now to the two people that are left on my review board:

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Ireland O'Reily: Ah, my faithful little Ireland. ^_^ Yeah, I have self-esteem issues, but who doesn't, right? I'm glad that you have enjoyed my writings, and I hope that this is still living up to my "standard" of excellence. Or at least my attempt at excellence. :: cough :: Anyway, yeah, I got mono from, I actually don't know. Never been kissed, never share lip-gloss or drinks… AGH! This sucks. Yeah, it is sad that Frost was just, buried almost carelessly, but that was how it was. Someone who effected so many lives, had so many impacts, and yet, is so unnoticed. ::shrug:: depressing yet effective. Now if I can only get my muses to work and actually write **Blind Spot**, this could be a good thing. Much love and stuff. ^_^

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Caitie: Thank you for your review. I didn't mean to depress you! That was supposed to be a bittersweet, kind of resolving chapter! AGH! I FAILED! I will never write again! Okay so that is a lie….


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